


Love Is An Ocean Wide

by fancyh



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Marine Biologist Steve, Orca Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-04-23 12:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19150741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyh/pseuds/fancyh
Summary: When marine biologist Steve Rogers helps to rescue an injured orca from the marine traffickers Hydra, he has no idea how his life will change. Once rehabilitated, the orca is released and disappears, and a despondent Steve throws himself into his work, only to feel a spark when a new volunteer arrives, a man with one arm and curiously familiar blue eyes.Bucky has lived in the ocean his whole life. But when his family is killed and his sister captured by Hydra, he is forced to turn to humans for help. One human in particular intrigues him, a man by the name of Steve. As Bucky comes ashore to search for his sister, he finds himself falling for the man, but dangerous secrets still stand between them.Includes clueless-about-humans Bucky, heart-eyes-Steve, and lots of Very Important rocks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [majel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majel/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [碧海情深](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22430467) by [Daisyzzzz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daisyzzzz/pseuds/Daisyzzzz)



> This fic was so fun to write and I'm so excited to share it with everyone. Huge thanks to majel for her incredible artwork and valuable input as well as being incredibly supportive the whole way through. This Bang was an amazing experience getting to work with her, and I'm so sad it's over! You can find us at @fancyhwrites and @itsmajel on tumblr. The art post is here:[https://archiveofourown.org/works/19177969 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19177969)
> 
> The artwork is also embedded into the story. The two main pieces are in the last chapter, with scene dividers throughout.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you also to my amazing beta, Eira (@mischiefandmisdemeanors on tumblr) for catching my mistakes and cheering me on.

 

##  Prologue

The ocean is quiet. Not the kind of quiet that means the absence of sound - the ocean is full of sound, clicks and calls and waves whipped up by the wind, the occasional hum of a boat overhead. No, the ocean is the sort of quiet that means serenity; a sense that every day is the same, that one is safe and loved, cradled in the cool embrace of the water. It is knowing one’s place in the world, being certain of one’s destiny.

For Bucky - as he thinks of himself, a human approximation of the clicks and whistles that make up his name - his destiny is the same as it has been since he was born; to live and die in the ocean, surrounded by family. His pod is the only one of their kind for many leagues, small and close-knit. They have not left the water in years, not since Bucky was a child and marveling at his pale skin and fragile body, wiggling his toes in the sand. It is too dangerous, his mother says. Humans do not respect the ocean anymore. They have forgotten the old ways, forgotten the wisdom the Orcans give. It is better to stay in the ocean, where it is safe.

But even the ocean is no longer safe; it's never truly been, for them. Most of their kind and their cousins, the orcas, have been slaughtered by humans, reviled and feared. Even though the killing has abated, the state of the ocean is worse than ever. There are tales of whales captured, never to be seen again. Sleek dolphins torn apart by boat propellers. Turtles strangled by plastic, birds drowning in oil. Pollution. Devastation. Death.  _ Humans.  _

They hear the boats first, a steady thrumming of motors. Nothing unusual - humans are always out fishing, or exploring. But this time, as the pod swims, fins slicing through the waves and puffs of air spraying up from blowholes, the humans follow.

There are more boats, circling around them to cut them off. Something lands in the water, exploding. They swim faster as more explosions go off, forcing them towards nets, the sound waves deafening and disorienting them. The nets are dragged tight around them, cutting off their escape as they circle and screech in alarm. Bucky and his parents surround Becca, the youngest. His parents are old, and slow, and it is down to Bucky to protect them all. 

There is a stick, and a loop, aiming for Becca, and Bucky clamps his teeth around it, yanking it from the humans’ hands. 

Bucky knows the humans’ language enough to recognize the shouted instructions.

_ Get the young ones. Kill the others. _

A swish as harpoons are fired, striking their parents. Blood stains the water red. A wire is looped around Becca’s body, dragging her towards a boat as she cries out for him. 

Bucky squeals, tail slapping at the water as he uses the limited space to pick up speed and launch himself at the boat dragging her in. He crashes onto it, the nearest humans falling into the water with screams. More come running, and a net is thrown over him, tightening. He struggles and screeches, thrashing. Above him, Becca is being hauled up by a sling. The scent of blood is thick in the water, his parents’ bodies floating lifelessly.

The humans are still in the water, mere feet away, and Bucky lashes out, throwing his restrained body forwards with a powerful flip of his tail. He lands on a human, pushing him under the water, grabs the other with his teeth and crushes. Blood spills in his mouth. There are screams, human and Orcan alike. 

_ Forget it. Get him away! _

Someone throws something his way. It hits his left side, and then all is pain as it explodes, water spraying high with the force. Bucky shrieks, thrashing in his net. Blood streams from the stump of his left pectoral fin, a ribbon of red that follows him down as he starts to tip and sink. The net pulls tight around him, hindering any movement as he drifts dazedly. 

_ Just leave! He’s dead already, he’s no use. The Guard’s on our tail. _

Distantly, he hears the sound of a boat engine starting. His eyes seek out the sound, fixating on the back of the boat as it pulls away, Becca’s cries still echoing across the water. The last thing he sees is the logo emblazoned on the back of the boat.

A skull and tentacles, dripping red with blood.

 

 

##  Chapter 1

The phone rings twice. Steve sets down his bucket of fish and strips off his gloves as Sam answers it, leaning against his desk.

“SHIELD Marine Rescue, how can I help you?”

Steve watches as Sam straightens up, expression going serious. 

“Where?”

“One’s alive?”

“Christ.”

“Yeah, we’re on our way. Thanks.”

Sam hangs up the phone, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“What is it?” Steve asks. They’ve seen a lot of injured animals, but Sam looks even more affected than usual. It must be something bad.

Sam’s lips press in a thin line. “Pod B. Traffickers, they think. Two orcas dead, one badly injured. Human bodies, too. Coast Guard is dealing with them.”

Steve’s stomach swoops. “Three orcas? Where’s the fourth?”

“Don’t know. Whoever it was probably got it.”

“The traffickers? You said there were bodies?”

“Yeah. Got stupid and fell in, I’m thinking. It’s a good lead. We see who they worked for, we can trace it.”

“Yeah.” They’ve been fighting against an elusive group of traffickers in the region for a while, known only as Hydra, who capture sea animals and sell them to the highest bidder - usually aquariums. Steve has no sympathy for the ones who got killed.  

“Let’s load up,” Sam says.

Steve nods grimly, already moving. In twenty minutes they’ve gathered the rest of their crew and are on their dingy rescue boat, speeding out across Puget Sound. Aside from Sam and Steve, the two main marine biologists, there’s Natasha, another marine biologist, Bruce, the marine veterinarian, Thor, a zoologist with a concentration in marine life, Tony, the aquatics engineer, and Clint, Peter, and Shuri, their volunteers. Peter and Shuri are both high schoolers hoping to go to school for marine biology, while Clint is a friend of Natasha’s who happens to love animals. The Rescue is small, kept afloat by donations alone, but Steve loves the work they do and loves the people he works with. They’re making a difference, one animal at a time. 

But it’s times like these when his faith in humanity wavers, despair creeping in; when he sees the scene of the attack, the water red with blood, lifeless bodies bobbing in the waves.

_ Who could do this to such beautiful creatures? _ he wonders. He has always loved orcas, loved their intelligence and playfulness, their deep emotional bonds that so closely mirror humans. To do this to them, he thinks, is unforgivable.

The boat idles, pulling up next to the Coast Guard’s ship. Their radio crackles as the Guard fills them in, pointing out the orcas in the water. Two are clearly dead, while the other is wrapped in a net, keening every so often in distress but unmoving. It sinks down in the water dangerously, its blowhole barely above the surface for it to breathe. Another hour and it would suffocate to death. 

They’ve never rescued an orca before, but they have to try. It’s too big for their small boat, which is usually used for turtles and dolphins and sea lions. They’ll just have to try to get it through the water to their center, which has natural enclosures consisting of netting strung across portions of the water surrounding their docks. There’s nothing there now, only some sea lions that hang around the docks, and it’s the only place they have to keep such a large mammal.

Natasha steers the boat close to the injured orca as Sam and Steve zip up their wetsuits, pulling out the inflatable sling they use for strandings. It has a long inflated tube on each side, with a sling in the middle for holding the whale. They slide off the back of the boat with it, swimming toward the orca carefully. The water is cold but the waves are low, the sound of water lapping at the boats mingling with the cries of the orca. Its tail moves in the water, and it squeaks and clicks as they draw near and reach out to lay hands on the netting covering it. Steve, on its left side, can see the mangled remains of his pectoral fin, the bleeding slowed but not stopped.

“Alright, let’s get this under him,” he says calmly, one hand on the raft. “On three. One, two, three-”

They slip the sling under the orca’s head, pulling at the netting to try and get his body all the way in. The orca flaps his tail again, like he knows what they’re doing, propelling himself up into the sling. His weight pulls it down, but the inflation helps him stay afloat, suspended in the water. Steve lets out a sigh of relief. He pulls out a knife and starts to cut the netting on the orca, freeing him as Clint throws out ropes to them and Sam ties them to the tubes. They take their places in the rear, a hand on the orca’s side, and give Natasha a thumbs up. 

With a muted roar, the engine starts and the boat begins to pull away slowly, tugging the sling with it. For a moment, it seems as if the sling will slip free, but the orca beats his tail and then they are floating smoothly along, gently pulled by the boat. 

The journey is long and slow, and they stop to rest many times before they finally reach the center. Peter dives off to undo the barrier net and the boat pulls into the enclosure, bringing them as close to shore as it can. They detach the ropes from the boat and pull the orca towards shore, stopping when it’s just shallow enough for it’s belly to hit the rocky sand. Nat swings the boat back out to deal with the dead orcas as Bruce comes over with medical supplies. Steve deflates the tube on the orca’s left side, exposing the injury. He rubs a hand on the orca’s smooth flank, and glances at his head only to see an eye looking back at him, a startling blue the color of the ocean. There is pain in the gaze, and heartbreak, and there is no doubting the intelligence reflected in those blue depths. Steve’s breath catches as their eyes meet, something unnameable passing between them. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

The orca lets out a puff of breath, misting in the air. 

Footsteps sound, and the moment is broken as Bruce kneels down next to Steve, tools at the ready. Steve moves to the orca’s head, holding it still and petting him in what he hopes is a reassuring way as Bruce irrigates the wound and inspects it for foreign material. Antibacterial ointment is daubed on and porous tape patched over the ragged stump and small cuts that litter the orca’s side.

“What do you think did this?” Bruce asks.

Steve squints at the damage. “Seal bomb, maybe. But they had to have thrown it right on him. I’m surprised they didn’t just capture him.”

“Too old, maybe?” Sam suggests, from the other side. “He’s about twenty, based on our records. Too old for an aquarium attraction, if that’s what they’re going for. They take them young.”

“Yeah.” Steve runs his eyes over the whale, the closest he’s been to one of the pod even though they’ve been tracking them for years. The orca is on the small side, like the rest of his pod, and though the records indicate he’s twenty he looks much younger. It may be that his pod has long lifespans. The adults were well into their forties and still fit. The young female, at twelve, must have been the only one taken. So much death, and for what? Money? 

“They said one of the dead guys had bite marks,” Sam remarks. “The other drowned. You think he got them?”

“I hope so,” Steve replies, voice hard. “I’d kill them myself if I could.”

The orca whistles and clicks. Steve pats his side.

“Yeah, me too pal. Me too.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky drifts in the shallow water, watching the ocean listlessly. They’d drawn the net close to shore, so he can’t really go anywhere, even if he could move. His fin throbs, a steady pulse of pain matched only by the pain in his heart. 

His parents, dead. Becca, captured. He is all alone, for the first time in his entire life. 

Well, alone except for the humans, who keep checking on him, with their soft voices and gentle hands. They are not like the humans who did this to him, he knows. They are trying to help. It doesn’t stop him from resenting the fact. 

The sun is just rising, coming from behind the grey walls of the building set in from the shore. There’s whistling, and then a door bangs open, the blonde human striding down the dock with a bucket of what smells like fish. Bucky floats closer to shore, flipping his tail a bit as the human nears.

“Good morning,” the human – who the others call Steve – says with a smile. “Want some breakfast?”

Bucky whistles in affirmation, beaching himself slightly on the sand. Steve steps close, ankle-deep in water, and reaches into the bucket, holding up a fish. Bucky opens his mouth and Steve throws it in, quickly followed by another. It’s not fresh, and Bucky grumbles internally at that, but at least it’s food. Steve even steps closer to rub along his jaw, and Bucky finds the sensation quite pleasurable. Steve has nice hands, and he shows his teeth a lot in a way that should be threatening but radiates happiness. He talks as he checks Bucky’s injuries with Bruce, a constant stream of chatter that washes over him like the tide. As much as Bucky is hurting – internally as well as externally – it comforts him. 

The day passes in a restless haze, the humans coming and going. Bucky stares out at the ocean and grieves for his parents, for wherever Becca is. 

_ I’ll rescue you, I promise,  _ he thinks, the red logo fresh in his mind.  _ I’ll do whatever it takes. _

He will bide his time, and let these humans help him, and then there is nothing on earth that can stop him from going after Becca.

As the days pass, he finds himself growing…. _ attached  _ to the humans. He learns their names, their personalities even. There is Steve, of course, with his floppy hair and sunshine smile, and Bruce, with his nervousness and soft voice. Thor looks like the humans he has seen on trips southward who carve planks of wood through the waves, with long hair and bulging muscles. He possesses a certain joviality that’s endearing, and always seems to be wearing far less colored drapery than the others. Clint trips over his own feet an alarming number of times, and Bucky is concerned that something is seriously wrong with the human’s balance. The two youngest humans, Peter and Shuri, are not allowed to get into the water with Bucky, but seem to delight in tossing fish for him to catch.

Then there is Natasha. She does not come into the water, only watches him from afar. It is a surprise, then, when one day she comes closer, standing before him on the shore.

“Can you understand me?” she asks.

Bucky clicks twice, intrigued. None of the other humans seem to think he can understand them.

She exhales, expression going wondering. “So there are others out there.”

Bucky whistles inquiringly, wriggling further up onto the shore. Natasha glances behind her, then crouches down in front of him.

“I’m like you.”

Bucky whistles and clicks, asking her what pod she is, why she’s on land, but Natasha just shakes her head.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand your dialect. But I can help you. The people who did this – we’ve been trying to stop them for a while. They’re called Hydra in blackmarket circles. They’re known for capturing sea creatures and selling them to the highest bidder, but what the others don’t know is that they also believe in our existence. They’re trying to find us, to research us.”

_ Becca.  _ Bucky whistles in alarm.

“Yeah. I don’t know if they knew what you were when they tried to take you, but if they do your sister is in even more trouble.”

The center door swings open and Steve emerges. Natasha looks behind her, then lowers her voice.

“I’ll help you find her. You have my word.”

She stands abruptly as Steve nears, looking at her quizzically. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks in bemusement. “Looks like you two were having a chat.” 

Natasha shrugs. “He’s a good listener.”

Steve laughs at that, reaching into his bucket to throw a fish Bucky’s way. “True. He even talks back, isn’t that right?”

Bucky squeaks, impatiently waiting for another fish. Steve obliges, oblivious to the look Natasha shoots Bucky before she walks away, red hair swinging behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve whistles as he dumps fish into buckets, light just peeking in through the windows and illuminating the room. The door opens and Thor strides in, paddleboard tucked under his arm and wetsuit half unzipped, long hair damp and wild. It’s only spring, and the water is still freezing, but Thor never seems to mind. His family is from Norway, apparently, so it makes sense.

“How’s the water?” Steve asks, hefting a bucket as Thor sets his paddle-board against the wall and takes another.

“Quiet,” Thor replies, following Steve out to their first pool, where a couple grey harbor seals rest along the faux-rock side. “It will be good weather this week.”

Steve peers out the windows, taking in the rare blue sky. “You think so?”

Thor bends down to check on the seals, inspecting a mangled flipper and tossing them pieces of fish. “I’ve yet to be wrong, haven’t I?”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “I have no idea how you do it. I swear, you’re more reliable than the weather channel.”

Thor just grins, and they move on to the dolphin pool, where Lorna trills at them impatiently until they feed her. She’s almost ready to go back in the water, Steve thinks, assessing the healed scrapes on her mouth from fishing line.

They wave hello to Clint as they pass the sea turtle room, finding Sam baby-talking at their rescue otters in the tank. They pass off a bucket of fish to him and make their way outside with their last ones, the air crisp but mild. The orca is waiting for them, breached onto the shore and flipping his tail impatiently. Thor takes the bucket and distracts him with food while Steve wades into the water, checking his wounds.

“We have to think about release,” Thor says, waving a fish in the air before throwing it in the orca’s open mouth. “He can’t stay here forever.”

“I know.” Steve smooths a hand down the orca’s side, careful around the healing cuts. “Tony’s started on a prosthetic fin.”

“He doesn’t have a pod anymore.” Thor sounds saddened. “It’s likely he won’t make it if he’s released alone.”

The orca trills mournfully.

“I know,” Steve sighs again. “We’ll think of something. Maybe we can try and get one of the other pods to take him.”

“You know that’s unlikely.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

Thor nods gravely. “Yes. It certainly is.” He crouches down, tossing another fish the orca’s way. “We shall help you, my friend. I swear.”

Steve has never gotten over the charm of hearing Thor speak to animals in his serious way, as if they can understand. For all Thor looks all muscles and brawn, he’s one of the kindest people Steve knows.

“That’s right,” he says, rubbing the orca’s side. “We’ve got you, buddy.”

The orca whistles at him, slapping his tail in the shallow water. Perhaps Thor is right, Steve thinks. Maybe he does understand. 

“How’s it going?” Steve leans on a workbench as he watches Tony fiddle with something, sketches piled around him.

“I think I have it figured out,” Tony replies, still not looking at Steve as he holds something to a sketch, frowns, and scribbles again. “This is going to be revolutionary, I’m telling you.” He grabs a sketch, passing it to Steve. “Here, look.”

Steve studies the sketch, which looks like the outline of a fin. “It...looks like a fin?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. No, look closer. The attachment.”

Steve traces the lines with a finger. “I can’t tell where it attaches.”

Tony snaps his fingers. “Exactly. Seamless attachment. No extra parts, just like the real deal.”

“How?”

“It’s all in the material.” Tony holds up something for Steve to see what looks like rubber. “It’s a rubber substitute, non-toxic, great rigid structure and tensile strength. It attaches like glue to organic material, and will act just like real cartilage.”

Steve reaches forwards, feeling the material. It’s rubbery but firm, as if covering something.

“That’s amazing,” he says. “Who created it?”

“Me. I’ve been working on it for a while, ever since that dolphin with the tail, remember?”

Steve nods.

“Well, it’s finally finished. When this hits mainstream, it’s going to change everything.”

“Great work, Tony. This is incredible.”

“I know.” Tony beams. “Give me a week, and I’ll have a replacement fin for our resident killer whale.”

Steve’s heart skips a beat, disappointment mingling with happiness. He doesn’t want to let the orca go, even if he knows they have to.

“Keep me updated,” he says, clapping Tony on the shoulder and turning to leave.

“Will do! Have fun with Shamu! Oh hey, that rhymes.”

Steve shakes his head, fighting a smile all the way outside.

 “Yeah, like that,” Steve says, guiding Peter’s hand as he tosses a fish to the orca. He steps into the water, rubbing the top of the orca’s head – he refuses to call him Shamu, despite Tony’s wheedling. Collectively, they seem to have settled on calling him “Buddy.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Peter questions, handing Shuri a fish. “I heard about those killer whales killing people at SeaWorld.”

Steve shakes his head. “They’re predators, sure, but they don’t eat people. There’s never been a report of an orca harming someone in the wild. They’re incredibly smart, maybe as smart as us, and have the same emotional bonds. You take one from it’s family, put it in a tiny concrete pool, and make it do tricks? Yeah, it’s going to lash out.” He rubs down the orca’s side. “Handling any wild animal is dangerous. That’s why you guys aren’t allowed in the water, and I am. But we take precautions, and we make sure we know what we’re doing. It’s about trust.”

Peter and Shuri are smart kids. Steve hopes they’ll eventually be doing his job, because they could make a difference. Shuri will probably find a way to solve climate change before she turns eighteen.

“Mr. Stark is making him a new fin, right?” Shuri asks.

“Yep. He’s going to be good as new.”

“I could probably make it,” Shuri muses, not bragging, just confident in her abilities. “Wouldn’t be hard.”

“I know you could,” Steve says with a smile. “Tell you what, next time I’ll let you do the engineering.”

“Okay.” She grins. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Steve rolls his eyes, sure that she will. Scratch climate change, Shuri is going to terraform Mars.

“Can I do a rescue next time?” Peter asks, capitalizing on the moment.

“Only if Aunt May says it’s okay.”

Peter frowns. “She’s too overprotective.”

“Kid, I think she’s just the right amount of protective.” Steve gives the orca one last head rub and wades to shore. “Come on, finish up and I’ll let you play with the otters.”

 “Come on, Steve,” Natasha needles. “You haven’t gone out in weeks. Sitting at home with Netflix does not count as fun.”

“Fine, fine,” Steve grumbles. “But only because everyone else is going. And if you try to set me up again–“

“Oh come on, the last time wasn’t so bad.”

“She thought a dolphin was a _fish,_ Nat. A fish.”

Natasha laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best choice. What about that guy, though, from the coffee shop?”

“No. Absolutely not.” Steve pages through his clipboard, checking off today on the schedule.

“Not your type?”

“Something like that.” Steve sighs, tapping his pen against the paper. “We need another order of fish.”

“When was the last time you got laid?” Natasha asks, ignoring him.

“Nat!” Steve colors. “None of your business.”

Natasha smiles like a cat who’s got the canary. “A while, then.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, I’m getting you laid tonight,” Natasha says. “Good talk. Be there at seven!”

She skips out of the room, leaving Steve frustrated and annoyed. He sighs, turning back to his paperwork. They barely have the money to cover food, much less new equipment…

It’s late by the time he leaves, eyes itching from too much reading. He stops by his apartment to change his clothes and then makes his way to the bar, a small place called the Howlies that he and his friends frequent. Everyone is already there, Sam, Natasha, Clint, Thor, Bruce, and Tony gathered around a table in the corner, and they cheer when they see Steve, a drink immediately pressed into his hand.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Sam says, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders and squeezing. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve takes the ribbing good-naturedly, sipping his foamy beer and sliding into a seat. The conversation flows, as do the drinks, though Steve doesn’t let himself get drunk. He’s never been a fan of the feeling.

A few people try to hit on him, batting eyelashes and leaning close, but Steve doesn’t feel a spark with any of them. He’s not one for one-night stands, or meaningless hookups. He wants a _connection,_ someone who will complement him. A partner.

He ends up leaving early, his friends barely noticing in their drunken state. He walks until he reaches the marine center, walking out onto the deck and sitting down with his legs over the edge. The orca drifts closer, nudging against his shins and letting out an inquisitive whistle.

“You know, I think I like you better than most people,” Steve says, rubbing the orca’s nose. “You don’t ask me for anything, you don’t expect me to be someone I’m not.”

The orca rests his head against Steve’s knees, seeming to listen.

“I haven’t dated anyone since Peggy,” Steve admits, with no one to hear him except the orca, and the quiet sea. “That was two years ago. I know we’re better off as friends, but I just...haven’t found anyone who makes me feel that way again. Sometimes I don’t think I ever will.”

He sighs. “My friends mean well, trying to set me up. But sometimes I wish they’d just let me be. I am happy with my life, you know. I have a good job, great friends…it’s everything I dreamed of.  My mom would’ve been proud of me.”

He falls silent again, listening to the soft sound of waves against the shore.

“Is it wrong, to feel like I’m missing something?” he finally says, looking down at the orca.

The orca clicks once, softly. Steve sighs, and a comfortable silence falls. They stay there, still, as the moon rises in the sky, glimmering off the water. Steve thinks of legends, and myths, of orca protectors and water spirits, and with his orca’s head on his lap, blue eyes fixed on him, he finds himself believing they could be true.

 “I have the solution,” Steve declares, interrupting the chatter of the lounge.

“What’s that?” Sam asks, stealing the last of the donuts from the box and stuffing it into his mouth. “Get laid?”

Everyone laughs, and Steve blushes, rolling his eyes.

“No,” he says, drawing out the word. “The solution to our orca problem. We’ve been thinking we have to release him, right?”

There are nods all around.

“Well, what if we didn’t?”

“What do you mean?” Natasha questions, eyes sharp. “We can’t keep him locked up forever.”

“No, I mean, we let him go where he wants, but keep him close. He can swim back here for food if he can’t hunt alone. We just move the net out slowly so he gets the idea.”

“Huh.” Thor strokes his beard. “That could work. He wouldn’t need a pod if he had a food source. He’s already used to us.”

“It would allow us to keep a closer eye on him,” Sam muses. “Orca’s are smart. He could definitely learn. Good thinking, Steve.”

Steve grins. “I’ve always said I was the smart one.”

“What am I, just a pretty face?” Tony grumbles.

“No,” Natasha says cooly. She tips her head. “A pretty ass.”

“Hey!”

“Tony,” Steve interrupts, before the situation escalates. “How’s the fin coming along?”

“Putting the finishing touches on today. We’re ready to attach.”

“Alright. Call Bruce, we’re ready.”

The attachment takes place that afternoon, after Peter and Shuri are out of school so they can watch from a safe distance. The orca is administered diazepam to keep him calm, and a sling is worked under him, fins poking through slits in the fabric. Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Thor keep the sling taut and the orca still while Bruce and Tony work, grafting the prosthetic fin onto the stump of his left one. The orca is remarkably calm during the procedure, not thrashing once, and soon Bruce and Tony are stepping back, pleased smiles on their faces.

“It’s done. Let’s see how it moves in the water.”

They pull the orca off the shore and into the water, letting the sling fall away. The prosthetic is silver colored, with a red star in the middle that makes it easily visible. It melds seamlessly into the scarred stump, soft yet rigid, a perfect mimicry of a real fin. The red star is also where a tracker is implanted, impossible to lose.

The orca wriggles, then starts to drift away, towards the netting that’s been pulled back to make the enclosure larger. His tail moves, then flips, and he starts to swim, cutting through the water. He turns, rolls, breaches the surface, and _leaps,_ body twisting through the air.

Steve laughs out loud, grabbing Tony with an arm and shaking him.

“You did it,” he says. “You did it.”

The orca hits the water with his tail, sending water spraying through the air, and calls, high and joyous.

They move the nets out a little farther each day, until they drop them completely, letting the orca free. Steve watches the screen in trepidation, the little red dot moving steadily as the orca moves through the Sound and into the open ocean. He swims up and down the coast all day, and then by evening is back into the Sound, and Steve nearly runs out to the shore to watch him come in.

His head crests the water, air spraying up, fin slicing through the waves. Steve smiles as he swims straight towards him and beaches in the shallows, whistling in greeting.

“You came back,” Steve can’t help but say, splashing into the water to rub a hand over the slick skin. He feels inordinately happy that the orca returned, if only for food.

He throws him fish and laughs as he opens his mouth for more, trilling happily. It is a routine that continues for the next week, the orca spending all day swimming in measured patterns, as if searching for something, coming in to eat and have his fin checked every morning and evening. He even learns a trick for his check-ups, turning on his side in the water and waving his fin. It’s better than any display at SeaWorld could ever be, knowing that he is free.

A week later, the sun rises, but the orca does not appear. They check the tracker, and find the red light blinking a little ways down the shoreline. When they arrive, all that’s left is the fin lying on the sand, footsteps leading away.

The orca is gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky stumbles forwards, legs weak and unsteady beneath him. His toes, pale and pink, curl in the sand, the wind tangling the long hair around his face. He draws in a deep breath, tasting salt in the air, the feeling of his lungs expanding unfamiliar in its quickness. He shivers slightly, missing the warmth of fat, small bumps rising along the pale expanse of soft skin. 

He lists to the right, his left arm no more than a stump below the shoulder, scars marring his skin. The fin had come off easily once he’d shifted forms, becoming smaller and more delicate, fragile in this human frame. Sounds are different, his eyesight sharper, colors more vivid. It’s overwhelming, and intoxicating, and the most terrifying thing he’s ever done. But he has explored every inch of ocean and coast nearby for the people who took Becca, and there is nothing. If he wants to find her, he must venture on land, among the humans. 

He spots some ahead, and heads their way, still shaky on his new legs as the sand under his feet turns to rock and trees loom overhead. He expects a greeting, perhaps a questioning of his purpose, but instead is greeted by screeches and horror.

“Hey!” someone calls, and Bucky, more familiar with these humans’ language now, turns their way. “What the hell are you doing?”

Their voice is angry, body language speaking of threat, and Bucky tenses, baring his too-small teeth. The humans seem upset, voices overlapping, indistinguishable, and his heart flutters rapidly in his chest, breaths picking up impossibly faster.

He stumbles away from the humans, unable to escape quickly, confused and disoriented. How is he supposed to find Natasha, or the ones who took Becca, in all these humans? In the sea, he is fast and powerful, able to swim leagues in a single day. Here, he is helpless. He understands now, why his parents forbade them from going on land again.

A sound splits the air, like a distress call, grating on his ears. Lights flash on some sort of moving mechanical contraption, a human in dark coverings approaching Bucky. He’s too tired to keep moving, swaying in place as he regards the human warily.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to come with me.” The human holds out a square of material, wide and monochrome. “Put this on, for God’s sake.”

Bucky takes the material hesitantly, unsure what he’s supposed to be doing with it. The human sighs and shakes his head.

“Jesus Christ, you’re high, aren’t you? God damn junkies.” He moves towards Bucky, grabbing him with large hands, and Bucky panics, struggling in his hold. He twists his head, biting into the human’s arm, and is rewarded by a cry of pain. 

The human slams him to the ground, arm twisted behind his back. He cries out in distress, a piercing whale-call ripped from his throat. Something hard and cold clicks around his wrist, and then he’s being pulled up and dragged towards the mechanical contraption, shoved inside. Another click and he finds the other end of a metal loop locked around a bar inside, keeping him secure. The opening shuts, sealing him in, and he kicks and scratches at it, metal cutting into his wrist as he pulls. 

“Calm down,” the human says, sliding into the space in front of him, kept separate by a solid net. “Want to tell me what you’re so hopped up on?”

Bucky whistles and screeches, angry and confused.

“What the hell kind of sounds are you making?” the human exclaims, as a rumble starts underneath them, rattling Bucky’s bones. He curls into the corner of the contraption, arm held awkwardly in front of him, and breathes shallowly. 

The contraption lurches. Bucky curls tighter, shivering.

It feels like forever before the movement and rumbling stop, and the door opens, the human reaching in again. Bucky struggles for a moment before going limp, too exhausted to fight back. The material is wrapped around his waist and he’s half-pushed, half-dragged into a building, loud and crowded with humans. They press his fingers in ink and ask him questions he can’t answer, and then he’s shoved into a cage and left, though his wrist is freed. He wedges himself into the corner, ignoring the humans’ eyes on him, and shivers.

 “ _There_ you are.” 

Bucky’s head snaps up at the familiar voice, hope bubbling in his chest. Red hair floats into view, Natasha’s face drawn with worry as she rushes over to the cage.  Bucky clicks and whistles in relief, standing up and clutching the bars. 

“We found him wandering naked by the shore,” a human says, gesturing to him. “He bit the officer that tried to take him in, wouldn’t stop struggling. Hasn’t spoken a word. High on something, definitely.”

“He’s my cousin,” Natasha says. “He’s got amnesia and PTSD. He has fugue states sometimes. Maybe you all should have been a little more compassionate before writing him off as an addict.”

“My apologies, ma’am.” The human looks cowed. “We didn’t know.”

“Let him out. Now.”

“Well, we’d really like to go through any documentation-”

“Now.”

“Okay, okay.” The human looks panicked, rapidly grasping at silver objects hung on his waist and opening the door to the cage. Natasha immediately rushes in, stopping just in front of Bucky and extending a hand. Bucky takes it, exhaling in relief as Natasha tugs him out of the cage. 

“We’re going,” she says to the human. “I’ll be filing a complaint.”

“I-” The human doesn’t have time to finish, as Natasha sweeps by him, grip tight on Bucky’s hand. She doesn’t stop until they’re outside, opening the door to another contraption and gesturing for Bucky to get in. He climbs inside with trepidation, looking out the clear front as Natasha gets in the other side. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, once she closes her door. “I didn’t know you were coming ashore today. You’re lucky I have a police scanner.” She pulls out another small metal device and inserts it into the inside of the contraption, the rumbling starting up. Bucky flinches, and she glances over, understanding in her eyes.

“This is a car,” she says. “People use it to get from place to place. It’s safe inside it. Well, for the most part.”

Bucky clicks, frustrated.

“Sorry. I know the human world must be confusing to you. I was a little girl when I came on land, so this is normal to me. How long has it been for you?”

Bucky works his jaw, swallowing. “I was...a child,” he manages, words clumsy and stilted. It has been years and years since he has spoken the human language.

Natasha glances over at him in surprise as the car moves. “You can talk.” 

“Yes.” Bucky swallows again, sounds unfamiliar in his mouth. 

“You have a name?”

Bucky lets out the series of whistles and clicks that make up his name, then swallows and forces his tongue into human syllables. “Bucky,” he says, with the distinctive click on the  _ ck.  _

“Bucky,” Natasha repeats, syllables softer, rounder. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Natasha takes him to her home, which is infinitely more welcoming than what she told him was the “police station,” where bad humans are taken. He understands, now, that the humans have rules, and customs, and knows why he had been taken there. It doesn’t stop him from flinching when Natasha touches him, knowing how human hands can hurt.

“I want. Police. To take humans who did this,” he tells her, as she wrestles him into the coverings humans wear -  _ clothing,  _ she tells him with exasperation,  _ it’s called clothing. _

“So do I,” she says. “They’re called Hydra. We - the team at the marine center - have been fighting them for a while.”

“Why have they not...taken them?” His head pops through the neck of the shirt, hair falling in his face. Natasha pulls the shirt straight, brushing his hair out of his eyes. 

“They’re trying,” she says patiently. “It’s not so simple to find them. Everything they do is hidden. Secret. We only know what they call themselves on the black market.”

“Black...market?”

Natasha sighs, sitting him down on a soft chair, the rest of the living room decorated in an eclectic mix of worn furniture and bright colors. “This is going to take a while. You hungry?”

His stomach gurgles and cramps. “Yes.”

“Thought so. Don’t worry, I’ll make you something familiar.”

Soon she’s setting a bowl of fish down in front of him and explaining everything she knows about Hydra while Bucky eats ravenously, picking up fish with his fingers and shoving them in his mouth. His mouth is smaller than he’s used to, and he has to work his jaw several times to mash the fish into small enough pieces to swallow. 

Afterwards, he finds himself suddenly exhausted, eyes drooping and muscles going lax. Natasha shows him to what she calls a bed, a large rectangle of softness, and tells him to go to sleep. He curls up on top of it, arm tucked to his chest, and finds himself slipping into darkness almost immediately.

When he wakes, the sun is low in the sky, and Natasha feeds him more fish while teaching him about human etiquette. He is unused to using facial expressions to communicate, relying on sound, and it feels strange to bare his teeth in the friendly manner that humans do. Smiling. Natasha winces and tells him to maybe just wait until it comes naturally. 

There are so many things he didn’t know about humans, so many little details of their everyday lives. There are clothes, and even ornamentation, and things to do with hair, and a large assortment of different smelling things to rub on one’s body and hair, but only on whichever one is specified, and some require you to be wet first. It makes no sense.

There are facial expressions, and tone of voice, and words he didn’t know, and words humans say in different tones that mean the opposite of the words, and he is so thoroughly confused by the end that he wants to crawl back into the ocean. Thankfully, Natasha shows him the wonders of the bathtub, and he spends an hour soaking in the water, nearly slipping into sleep again. 

When he finally gets out, he’s arrested by the face staring back at him in the mirror. His damp hair hangs in waves around his face, just brushing his shoulders, and blue eyes peer out at him from under dark brows. His skin is pale, cheekbones high and chin dimpled in the middle, jaw square and barely dusted with stubble. His eyes trail down, skimming his collarbone and tracking the scars scattered across his left side, growing thicker as they move down the stump of his left arm. He touches it gently and finds the skin shiny and knobby, uneven. 

It doesn’t bother him, not really, but he will admit it’s harder to have one arm on land. Humans use their hands for so many things, while he had only needed his fin for stability. He supposes he will have to learn to live with this, like everything else. 

With difficulty, he pulls on the shirt and pants Natasha had given him, both soft and worn. She’s promised to take him out “shopping,” and show him the human world, but he’s not sure why he needs different clothes than these. Isn’t one enough? He’ll never understand humans.

After a long sleep, and a breakfast of salmon, it does turn out that he needs more than one pair of clothes. Natasha drags him to a store, full of colorful fabrics and chattering humans, and makes him try on different combinations of things until she’s satisfied. He’s not sure why certain shirts and pants go together, or different colors can’t be mixed, or why he needs so  _ many,  _ but he does have to admit that there’s a certain appeal to the adornment. The fabrics are soft, and the colors and patterns are intriguing to look at, making him think of poisonous sea creatures. The shoes help protect his soft feet from being cut on the rough ground, and he’s much warmer once he’s bundled in layers, like a sort of artificial blubber.

“You’re adorable,” Natasha says, pinching his cheeks. “Come on, little whale. It’s time for the wonders of human foods.”

“I’m not a whale,” Bucky grumbles, having been privy to many of Steve’s rants on the subject –  _ Orcas are dolphins, not whales, for god’s sake, I swear I’ll punch the next person who asks –  _ but follows her anyway, pressed tight to her side to avoid bumping into any humans. 

As it turns out, he likes human food, but it doesn’t seem to like him. After cramming an entire box of cookies down his throat, he ends up with a stomach ache, and promptly swears off anything but fish. 

“Probably best,” Natasha agrees. “I’m not sure what the nutritional requirements are for whale people, but I for one have always done better on seafood.”

“I’m not a whale,” Bucky says again, glaring at her as he rubs his stomach. “I am Orcan.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Natasha waves a hand. “We are called the dukhi morya in Russia. Spirits of the sea.”

“You are of Russia?”

“Yes. My family lived off the coast, in the icy waters near Tiksi. We were…” She takes a deep breath. “Selkie.”

Bucky straightens up, staring at her in surprise. He knew she was like him, but he’d never thought  _ selkie.  _

“I was taken by Hydra when I was a baby,” Natasha says, and the pieces click into place in Bucky’s mind. How Natasha had known so much about Hydra, their experiments on what other humans considered myth. “There was a facility, where they kept all the young ones they took, raising us to be weapons. Experimenting on us. They took my pelt, but there was so much they did not know. They...touched it, experimented on it.”

Bucky blanches. Touching a selkie’s pelt is an extremely intimate act only granted to their loved ones. He cannot imagine feeling such a violation.

Natasha smiles grimly. “Oh yes. And then they told me to transform, and I couldn’t, so they punished me.”

“How did you...escape?”

Natasha shrugs. “Eventually, my pelt was destroyed. I was no longer bound to them. I realized that they were bad, and I tried to get the others to come with me, but they would not. Hydra had shaped them too well. So I ran. I scavenged, stole, did whatever I could to stay alive. Without my pelt, I was...lost. I could not go back to the water.” Her jaw tightens and she breathes carefully, evenly, pushing down the grief. “Eventually, someone took me in and brought me to America. Now I help those in the sea who would suffer my fate.”

“You are...brave.” Bucky places his hand over hers. “You are...family now.”

“I don’t remember what it is to have family.”

“Not alone,” he says. “We...protect. Together.”

“Yes,” she echoes. “Together.”

“Look here.” 

Bucky frowns at the camera, flinching and blinking when the light blinds him. 

“Don’t move,” Natasha instructs. “Just keep staring ahead. And try to look less…”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Natasha signs, leaning forwards again. “Three, two, one…”

His slightly confused face ends up on a small rectangle of plastic that Natasha presses into his hands. 

“James Buchanan Barnes,” she reads off it, pointing at the shapes that make up the letters, and the  _ signature  _ she’d made him craft. “That’s your name, and your birthday is March tenth, nineteen ninety five. Memorize that.”

Bucky squints at the card, holding it up to the light. “I need...why?”

“If you don’t have an ID, you can get in trouble, even end up back in the police station.”

Bucky shivers. “Okay. I keep.”

Natasha plucks the card from his fingers and slides it into a square of leather before passing it back to him. 

“Put it in your pocket, and don’t lose it, okay?”

“Yes.” He wedges it into his pocket, patting it. “I am ready?”

“As ready as you’ll ever be. Just do what I tell you, and remember your cover.”

“Cousin,” he says, following her outside towards the car. 

“Yes. And you don’t speak very good English.”

Bucky huffs, but gets in the car, struggling with the seatbelt before finally latching it with a soft cry of triumph. Natasha starts the car, and they pull away, Bucky watching through the windows as the world flies past. 

Soon they’re pulling into the parking lot of the marine center, Bucky jumping out and eagerly heading towards the doors. Natasha opens them with a square of plastic like his license, and trails behind Bucky as he steps into the front office, a few desks piled with papers. She starts to shuffle through them as he follows the smell of fish to the next room, lined with what look like refrigerators and a few metal tables, buckets stacked in the corner.  

Licking his lips, Bucky pries open the first fridge, which opens upwards instead of sideways like Natasha’s. Inside is piles upon piles of frozen fish just lying there, not being eaten. 

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Bucky startles, the lid slamming closed as he whirls. He relaxes when he sees it is Steve, hair brushed gold in the dim light and brow pinched in a frown. He looks fierce, stance wary and defensive, broad shoulders pulled back imposingly. Bucky finds his mouth curving up in an unconscious smile, a pleased furl of warmth opening in his stomach at the sight of his rescuer. Steve is a  _ good  _ human, and Bucky has missed seeing him every day. 

“Hello,” Bucky says, pleased that he remembered the human greeting. “I am Bucky.” He holds out a hand like Natasha had shown him.

Steve’s expression shifts from wary to confused, and his defensive stance eases as he takes Bucky’s hand, palm warm and calloused. “Uh, hi. I’m Steve.”

“I know.” Bucky beams, squeezing Steve’s hand before letting go. He notices that Steve’s eyes are blue, like the sky, flecked with green.

“You...know.” Steve raises an eyebrow. “Okay. What are you doing in here? This is staff only.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, contrite. If this is Steve’s territory, his fish, then he shouldn’t infringe. “I did not know.”

“Bucky? Where’d you go – oh.” Natasha appears in the doorway, looking between them. “Steve, I see you’ve met Bucky.”

“You know him?” Steve asks. 

Natasha nods. “Yeah. Sorry, I was just going to let you know. He’s my cousin, he’ll be staying with me for a while. I thought he could help out here.”

Steve squints at Natasha for a moment, then nods. “Well, we can always use help.” He turns to Bucky. “You know anything about marine life?”

Bucky nods, eyes flicking to Natasha. “Yes. I do.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Okay everyone, meet our newest volunteer.” Steve claps Bucky on the shoulder, careful to make it the right one. “This is Bucky. He’s Natasha’s cousin, so be nice.”

Everyone laughs, and moves forward to introduce themselves. Bucky looks slightly overwhelmed but pleased, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Steve doesn’t want to admit how much he’s been looking at those eyes, their blue-grey depths reminding him of the ocean, mysterious and stormy. His shoulder–length brown hair falls around his face in waves –  _ and god, what a face _ – and Steve just wants to reach out and touch; find out if it is as soft as it looks. 

He tries not to stare at the empty left sleeve of Bucky’s shirt, the red fabric carefully pinned up against the stump. Bucky doesn’t seem self-conscious, though his interactions are slightly off, English stilted and accented. Steve doesn’t want to pry, but he’s burning with curiosity. Where did Bucky come from? Why hasn’t Natasha mentioned him before, and why did she say she didn’t have any family? What happened to his arm?

He keeps his mouth firmly shut against the questions as he shows Bucky gives Bucky a tour of the center, showing him what he will be doing. Bucky learns fast, though there’s a certain...naivety that strikes Steve. 

“What is this?” Bucky asks continually, pointing to each object they encounter and repeating its name after Steve, mouth working silently and brow furrowed. “What is that?” he questions. “How does that work? Why do you do that?”

The ceaseless questions should annoy Steve, but instead he finds it rather endearing. Bucky is so obviously eager to learn, so interested in everything, that Steve cannot find it in him to refuse his questions. It’s obvious Bucky’s English isn’t perfect, so it’s understandable he wants to improve. Steve does his best to explain everything, keeping up a steady stream of commentary as Bucky hangs on his every word.

Bucky, as well, obviously loves animals. He crouches by the dolphin pool, making what sounds like tongue clicks, and the dolphins swim right up to him, nosing his hand and squealing excitedly. The seals are inordinately curious about him, the sea lions barking and swarming them. Bucky seems to have a magic touch, his eyes glittering with fondness as he speaks to the animals in low, choppy English. His expression goes dark when Steve talks about their injuries, stormy eyes filling with anger.

“Humans,” he hisses. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “We suck.”

Bucky looks up at him, and frowns. “Not you. You are a good human.”

Steve feels heat rise to his cheeks, and he coughs. “Thanks.”

Bucky just tilts his head, like he’s trying to puzzle him out, and the intensity of his gaze makes Steve’s blush grow.

“Otters,” he blurts, turning away from the piercing gaze. “There are - we’re going to the otters.”

When they’re done with their tour, Steve makes Bucky fill out paperwork - a form stating he understands the risks of volunteering and another in lieu of the application most volunteers have to submit. Steve is only taking him on without an application because Natasha vouched for him. 

Bucky holds the pen like he’s not quite sure what to do with it, and scrawls a nearly illegible signature on the line of the consent form. When faced with the application, however, he just blinks owlishly at Steve. 

“I just need some information,” Steve says. “You know - name, date of birth, address, education, all that.”

“Oh.” Bucky reaches in his pocket and withdraws a wallet, pulling out a driver’s license and holding it out to Steve. “Here.”

“Right.” Steve takes the license, unsure what Bucky wants him to do with it. “Yeah, it’s some of the same information. Just put it down on the form.” He glances down at the license, noting Bucky’s full name and date of birth out of curiosity, before handing it back. “Take your time, I’ll just be...around.”

Bucky looks confused, but nods, frowning down at the form like it’s rocket science and not a simple questionnaire. His brow furrows, and he chews on the tip of the pen, long eyelashes sweeping down. Steve quickly flees before his stare grows creepy, retreating to the judgemental looks of his dolphins.

After Bucky has handed in his application - with much help from Natasha, Steve suspects - he drifts around, helping whenever asked. He seems to orbit around Steve and Natasha the most, shuffling close to peer at what they’re doing or ask a question in his soft, lilting voice. Steve finds it difficult to concentrate when Bucky is so close, locks of hair falling in his face and the smell of ocean spray invading Steve’s nose. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, as Steve pores over a map of the orca’s last tracking data, trying to figure out what happened.

Steve sighs, tracing the meandering paths with his finger and feeling a pang of grief. “We lost one of our rescues just a few days ago. An orca. We don’t know what happened, he just…” He swallows. “He just disappeared. We think the poachers that injured him might have gotten him.”

Bucky is uncharacteristically silent, and Steve glances over to see him biting down on his lip, brow furrowed. He takes a breath, and opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, ocean eyes swimming with an unnameable emotion. He stands, and puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder, touch featherlight. “Maybe one day you will find him again.”

“You think?” Steve is lost in his eyes, drawn by the heat of his hand on his shoulder.

“Yes.” Bucky smiles, sad around the edges. “I think...he will find you.”

Then he’s gone, slipping away like the tide.

 Bucky fits into their lives at the center so smoothly it feels like he has always been there. He has a certain charm, a genuineness and naivety coupled with a deep sadness that makes people want to protect him instinctively. He gets along well with everyone, slightly shy at first but growing more comfortable, smiles coming more easily. His and Sam’s relationship is a bit more antagonistic, with constant teasing and jabs, but friendly nonetheless. 

“Hey!” Sam exclaims, as Bucky casually steals his coffee mug, taking a sip. He grimaces, sliding the mug back across the chipped table with an expression of extreme distaste.

“Bad,” he says firmly.

“ _ Asshole,”  _ Sam swears. “You could’ve gotten your own coffee, why’d you have to steal mine?”

“Yours?” 

“Yeah, mine.”

Bucky frowns. “Sorry. Why is it bad?”

“Oh, and now he’s insulting my coffee.” Sam waves a hand at Bucky, as if to say  _ look at this asshole.  _

“Bucky, you can’t steal people’s coffee,” Natasha says without looking up from her phone, chair balancing improbably on its two back legs. 

“Sorry,” Bucky repeats. “Why are you drinking a bad drink?”

“Bad drink?  _ Bad  _ drink?” Sam scowls at Bucky. “Coffee is the best thing on this earth. You simply have no taste.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose – adorably, Steve thinks. “Humans are weird.”

“Yes, we are,” Clint says, drinking straight out of the coffee carafe. “That’s the best part of being human. And stop saying ‘humans’ like that. You make it sound like you’re an alien or something.”

“What’s an alien?”

“Dude, seriously? Oh, man.” Clint flops into a chair, narrowly avoiding spilling his coffee as he props his feet up on the table. “Now I really think you’re an alien.”

“Aliens are beings from another planet,” Thor informs Bucky seriously. “There are debates about whether they exist, as none have been found or contacted as of yet.”

“Oh.” Bucky absorbs this. “I’m not an alien.”

“Good to know,” Clint says. “So if you’re not an alien, that means you’re human. Thus, you’re including yourself in your judgement of weirdness.”

“Not everyone of this planet is human,” Thor says mildly. 

“Well, yeah, animals. I’m talking about like, advanced brains and shit, cause Buck-o is pretty obviously not an animal.”

“There are many species that are advanced, yet are not considered humans,” Thor says. “And species that can appear human, in some forms.”

Natasha’s head snaps up from her phone, eyes narrowing. Bucky glances at her, a worried frown wrinkling his brow.

Sam chuckles. “Man, what the hell are you talking about? I’m pretty sure there’s only one species that looks human, and that’s humans.”

Thor shakes his head. “In my religion, when the gods created the earth, they gave each realm a line of protectors to watch over it. Land, sea, and air. The protectors could all take the same form, in order to form bonds and speak the same tongue. As the centuries have passed, land-bound humans have become separate, and those of the sea and air have become fewer and fewer. But legend says they still exist, if one knows where to look.”

“Like the legends of Atlantis?” Clint muses, brow furrowed. Steve sees Bucky perk up, tilting his head like a curious dog.

Thor nods. “Yes. Legend says the golden capital was hidden under the ocean when sea dwellers parted from humans.”

“That’s some interesting mythology,” Sam says, taking a sip of his coffee. “You believe it?”

Thor shrugs, but there’s something evasive in his eyes. “It is no more unbelievable than aliens, is it?” he says finally. 

“No,” Steve murmurs, turning it over in his mind. “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

Steve watches Bucky work, bucket set on the floor as he tosses fish to the seals. He’s surprisingly adept with only one arm, never seeming upset by his lack. There are some things he cannot do, and some things he needs help with, but he is capable and confident, and Steve doesn’t for a moment regret letting him volunteer. 

“Hey.” Steve interrupts Bucky clicking his tongue at the seals and petting them like they’re golden retrievers and not wild animals. “You want to come out on the boat today?”

Bucky turns and brightens, straightening up. “Yes. What for?”

“Just a routine patrol. Everyone else is busy, thought you might like to finally come along.”

“To find injured souls,” Bucky says with a nod. “Yes. I help.”

Steve smiles. “Come on, then. Help me load up.”

They load their equipment into the small boat and pull away from the dock, Bucky sitting in the front while Steve stands at the wheel. He revs the engine as they drift through the Sound, birds flying overhead but the water quiet, lapping softly against the boat. They pick up speed as the channel opens up, the green of the tree-lined shore giving way to a wide blue horizon, and Bucky reaches his hand over the edge of the boat, trailing it through the water as he closes his eyes. 

He looks peaceful, face tipped up towards the sun and hair fluttering in the wind, a smile curving his lips. More than peaceful, he looks  _ beautiful,  _ an ethereal quality to him that makes Steve’s heart stutter in his chest. He thinks, irrationally, of sirens and sea-spirits. He thinks, even more irrationally, of Thor’s beliefs; of protectors of the ocean cloaked in human form. 

“Ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath. “Get a grip, Rogers.”

“Hmm?” Bucky turns to him, expression still serene as he blinks open his eyes.

“Nothing,” Steve says. “Have you ever been on a boat before?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. I have only seen them.” He hesitates. “There are bad men in boats. Hydra?”

“Yeah.” He’s sure Bucky has heard about Hydra from one of them in the past few weeks he’s been here. It’s a constant topic of discussion. “We tried tracing the men who died in the orca attack, but it was a dead end. There was no record of who hired them.”

Bucky’s mouth tightens in frustration. “Why is it so hard to find them?”

“They’re good at covering their tracks. Believe me, we’re doing everything we can. So are the police.”

“What about others?”

“What do you mean?”

“It is not just Hydra.” Bucky gestures at the ocean around them. “Other humans are bad. They hurt and... _ pollute.  _ You help, but...who stops them? Why do police do nothing?”

Steve sighs. “That’s the million-dollar question, pal. Believe me, I wish things were different. It’s not so simple as stopping one person. I mean, every person contributes to pollution. Stopping things like big oil, yeah, that’s something that would help immediately, but conservation takes a lot more effort. We’d have to ban plastics, switch to entirely renewable energy...I mean, maybe one day, but it’s going to take a long time.”

“Time,” Bucky echoes. He leans on the rail, dropping his chin on his arm and staring out pensively at the water. “We do not have time. We are dying.”

“Yeah, I won’t argue with you there. We’re headed towards total global catastrophe if we don’t get a handle on climate change.”

The boat rocks as it crests a wave, sea-spray misting Steve’s face. The sun glitters off the surface, turning it to glass, and the hum of the engine quiets and dies as they drift. Grey fins slice through the water, and a shoal of dolphins swim past slowly. Bucky reaches out to skim their backs with his fingers.

“You protect the sea,” Bucky says suddenly, still staring into the water.

“I suppose. We all do, everyone at SHIELD.”

“Good humans,” Bucky murmurs, almost too low for Steve to hear. He stands, making his way over and sitting down on the bench, eyes burning with intensity as he stares at Steve. “I want to protect the sea, too.”

“I know.” Steve smiles. “I can tell how much you love it.”

“I  _ belong  _ to the sea,” Bucky says sharply, fist clenched. “I fight for it.”

“So do I,” Steve replies, holding his gaze. “So do I.”

“Can you grab the scissors? Yeah, those ones right there.”

Steve props his elbows on the open back of the boat, holding the turtle carefully in his hands as Bucky snips at the plastic entangling it. It finally comes off with a snap, and Bucky places it in the boat and stows the scissors. 

“Will he be okay?” he asks, crouching down to peer at the turtle. Steve tilts the turtle, inspecting him for damage, and nods with a smile.

“Yeah, Buck, he’ll be fine. See?” He sets the turtle back in the water, and watches as it swims away, tiny flippers wriggling behind it. He grins up at Bucky, and extends a hand. “Help me up.”

Bucky grasps his hand, helping him climb up into the boat. He unzips his wetsuit slightly, running a hand through his wet hair and accepting the towel Bucky passes him. The boat rocks slightly, water lapping at the sides as it drifts, the spring sunshine spilling warmth over his skin. He sits on the edge of the boat, closing his eyes and letting the sun wash over his face, lulled by the gentle rhythm of the waves. Bucky settles next to him, a soft splash of water suggesting he’s let his legs dangle off the edge.

“Sometimes I just come out here and sit,” Steve says, eyes still closed and contentment settling in his bones. “It’s so quiet out here.”

“Yes,” Bucky agrees, voice soft and wistful. “It is.” There’s a moment of silence. “It is...peaceful.”

Steve opens his eyes, turning his head to watch Bucky. “Why are you here? I never asked.”

Bucky looks down at his feet drifting in the clear water, sunlight turning his eyelashes golden. “My family...they were killed.” His face is a mask of grief. “I am looking for my sister.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve understands the grief of losing family - it has only been a few years since his mother died, after all. “And Natasha, she is your...cousin?”

“Yes. She is helping me.” He flexes his feet, swinging his legs in the water. “When I find my sister, I will go home.”

Steve swallows, trying to crush the tiny seed of disappointment in his chest.  _ Stay,  _ he wants to say. 

“I hope you find her,” he says instead, face turned away so Bucky can’t read the truth in his eyes. “If you ever need any help…”

Bucky turns to him, smiling gently. “You have already helped.”

“I have?”

“Yes.” Bucky reaches out and grasps Steve’s hand, squeezing once before letting go. “Thank you.”

Steve doesn’t know what he’s being thanked for, but he nods, and they sit in comfortable silence until the sun starts to sink in the sky and they turn around, heading back to shore. 

As the days pass, and spring blossoms, the weather growing warmer and green replacing brown, Steve and Bucky grow closer and closer. Steve hoards every piece of information Bucky lets slip, every smile he sends his way. Bucky seems restless, staring out at the sea with a longing gaze whenever he thinks the others aren’t watching, grief darkening his eyes; but he never fails to brighten when he sees Steve, talking in his soft voice and circling ever closer like a stray cat. He leans over Steve’s shoulder to peer at reports, brushes against him when they walk, sidles up to him when Steve is standing still. And Steve grows bolder, reaching out to clasp his shoulder, to nudge his arm. Bucky smiles at him, shy and pleased, and Steve’s heart stutters and skips, the warmth in his chest growing.

“Fuck,” he says one morning, after waking from a dream involving Bucky’s blue eyes and those soft lips against his skin, “I’m in love with Bucky.”

“I’m in love with Bucky,” he announces to Sam morosely over his sixth drink, chasing a bead of water around the rim of the glass. 

“Yeah, and?” Sam says, taking a shot and grimacing. “Dude, we been knew.”

“Ugh.” Steve drops his forehead against the bar, ignoring the stickiness. “Kill me, please.”

Sam pats his shoulder consolingly. “Why the long face? I’m pretty sure Barnes wants to eat you with a spoon.”

“I don’t think he likes me like that. He’s never even said anything about liking men,” Steve wails, face smushed against the wood. “I once told him he had nice hair and he just  _ stared  _ at me like I was crazy. He made that face, you know?”

“Yeah, I know the face. It’s fucking creepy, he doesn’t blink. Listen, he makes that face about ten times a day. I referenced Titanic and he made that face. I mean, who doesn’t know Titanic? I have no idea what goes on in his brain, and I don’t want to know, because he’s seriously the weirdest person I’ve ever met. But believe me when I say he  _ likes  _ you, Steve.”

“You think so?”

“Last week I accidentally brushed by him and he  _ hissed  _ at me. But you put your hands all over him and he looks like Christmas came early. Trust me, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Just ask him out. Worst case scenario, he says no.”

“Worst case scenario? Sam, what if he hates me? What if I ruin our friendship?”

“You just gotta take that chance, dude. I doubt anything could make him hate you. If he does, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

“You’re gonna give him the shovel talk, aren’t you.”

“Duh.”

“No death threats.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

“Okay.” Steve drags himself upright, draining the last of his drink. “Okay, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna ask him out.”

“Great.”

“I’m gonna.”

“Heard you the first time.”

“No, I’m gonna–” Steve stumbles out the door in time to throw up in behind a dumpster as Sam pats his back and mutters about  _ goddamn idiots who can’t not be dramatic a single moment in their lives. _


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky is helping Steve with the fish when Steve starts wringing his hands, his anxiety making Bucky twitchy.

“Hey,” Steve says, and shoves his hands in his pockets, not even pretending to work anymore. “Do you, um, would you want to get coffee with me, sometime?”

Bucky squints at him, trying to work out the reason for Steve’s sudden panic. “I don’t like coffee.”

“Oh. Right.” Steve looks crushed by a fact that he should’ve already known, and Bucky is even more perplexed. “Um, yeah. Sorry. I’ll just…”

He books it out of the room, leaving Bucky bewildered in his wake. He avoids him the rest of the day, too, misery surrounding him like a fog, fleeing whenever Bucky tries to talk to him. Frustrated, Bucky relays the day’s events to Natasha that evening, unable to restrain the distressed whistles that pour from his throat.

“Hold up,” Natasha says, raising a hand. “He asked you out, and you said ‘I don’t like coffee’?”

“Yes. I just told you.”

“Oh no. Oh my god.” Natasha puts her head in her hands, groaning. “Oh, this is a disaster.”

“Natasha,” Bucky snaps. “Something is wrong with Steve. Tell me.”

Natasha looks up with a long-suffering sigh. “Bucky, what’s wrong with Steve is that he asked you out, and you rejected him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Bucky, he was asking you on a date.”

“A...date?” Bucky tests out the word.

Natasha swears in her native language.

“Natasha.”

“Ugh. Okay, so a date is like...a mating ritual? That humans do. They go somewhere and talk, maybe do an activity together.”

Bucky frowns. “We already do that. We go out on the boat, and we work.”

“No, not like work. It’s...special. ‘Getting coffee’ isn’t always literal, it just means going out somewhere nice, alone.”

“On a date.”

“Yeah. On a date.”

“With Steve.”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky digests this. “Mating ritual. Steve wants to...court me?”

“Yeah, that’s about right.”

“Oh.”

Natasha watches him warily. “Is that something you want?”

He thinks of the way Steve makes him feel, the way he wants to touch and hold and never leave his side. Steve’s bright smile, his blue-green eyes. That blonde hair he wants to run his fingers through. The way his stomach twists into knots when he is around.

“Yes,” he says. His eyes widen. “Oh no. He is upset because he thinks I do not want him.”

“Yep.”

“So I must...court him. Like humans do.” He looks at Natasha. “Teach me how.”

“God help me,” Natasha sighs.

Bucky corners Steve in the otter room, armed with a suitable courting gift and determination.

“Steve,” he says, then promptly forgets how to speak. He thrusts his gift into Steve’s chest.

“Um.” Steve takes his gift, a smoothly polished rock he had found on the shore. It’s very sensible, and sturdy, and a representation of their relationship. Natasha had told him to give small gifts with meaning, and he thinks he has done well. It is tradition in Orcan culture to gift rocks, which symbolize the building of the sturdy bedrock of a new relationship.

Steve turns the rock over in his hands, but he looks confused, not happy. Bucky panics.

“For you,” he says.

“Oh. Um, thanks?” Steve still doesn’t look happy.

“I would like. To get coffee,” Bucky blurts. “With you.”

“Oh.” Steve blinks, then his eyes widen. “Oh! Really?”

“Yes. But I was told that coffee means… a date? Not..coffee.” He looks up at Steve. “I don’t like coffee.”

Steve laughs, relief etched in the lines of his body. “Yeah. Yeah, Buck.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I know.”

“No coffee?”

“No coffee,” Steve confirms, smiling at him fondly. “We can go anywhere you want. What’s your favorite food?”

“Fish.”

Steve looks amused. “Okay. Seafood it is. When are you free?”

When Bucky looks at him blankly, Steve clarifies, “What time would work for you?”

Bucky shrugs. “When we are not working?”

“Right. Um, how about this Saturday? I can get the others to cover my shift.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. I’ll pick you up at five?”

Bucky nods.

“Okay.” Steve smiles, and Bucky smiles back, happiness bubbling in his chest. They stare at each other for another minute, awkward, until Clint interrupts them and they get back to work, still shooting each other surreptitious glances.

The days seem to drag until Saturday, Bucky nearly out of his skin with nervous excitement. Natasha tries to lecture him on proper date attire, but he’s bad at telling human clothes apart and knowing what is formal and what is not. Eventually, he just lets her pick his outfit.

He waits impatiently by the door for Steve’s arrival on Saturday, fiddling with the blue shirt Natasha had put him into. His black denim pants are so tight he thinks he is losing blood flow, but that is apparently something humans find attractive. His hair is combed and falling around his face in its normal waves, face free of stubble.

He opens the door on the first knock, quickly reassessing his judgement of tight jeans when he sees the way Steve’s thighs stand out in his own, a leather jacket pulled on over a tight grey t-shirt. His blonde hair is swept back, eyes trailing up and down Bucky hungrily.

“Hey,” Steve says, cheeks flushing slightly pink. “You, uh, you look really good.”

“Thank you. So do you,” Bucky adds, nearly drooling with the urge to reach out and put his hands all over Steve.

“Thanks.” Steve turns an even brighter shade of pink. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” Bucky follows Steve to the car, letting him open the door for him. The drive is short, both of them attempting small-talk and succeeding reasonably well – at least Bucky thinks so, though he doesn’t have much experience in that area.

The smell of fish immediately hits Bucky’s nose as they enter the restaurant, making his mouth water. There’s a long bar taking precedence, wrapping around the cooking areas, people perched in chairs and chatting as cooks prepare their food in front of them.

“Everything here is sustainably sourced,” Steve says, as a woman directs them to a spot on the bar. “It’s the best sushi in Washington.”

Bucky licks his lips as he watches a man roll fish into sticky rice, no cooking like most humans ruin it with. Yes, Steve has done well in picking adequate sustenance. Bucky must improve his own courting technique. Would two rocks be appropriate? Or is that overkill?

Steve apparently knows the chef, greeting him in a friendly manner and asking about his children. He blushes when he introduces Bucky, stammering over his words, and Bucky just wants to wrap him up in a sushi roll and eat him...or something.

Steve helps him pick out what he wants, a line of heat against Bucky’s side as he leans in to speak. The first bite of salmon and rice and assorted vegetables and sauce makes his eyes nearly roll back into his head, taste buds lighting up with pleasure. Is _this_ why humans love food so much? He thinks he may never leave this place.

“Good?” Steve asks, voice threaded with amusement as Bucky opens his eyes again.

“This. Is amazing. I want to eat everything.”

Steve laughs. “Well, I’m not sure that’s entirely feasible, but we can always come back.”

“More dates?” Bucky inquires, shoving a sushi roll in his mouth.

“Uh, yeah. If you want.”

“Yes.” Bucky nods, swallowing his mouthful. “I want.”

Steve laughs again, the sound music to Bucky’s ears. “That’s good to know. I would very much like another date with you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Yes,” Bucky says immediately. “Many dates.”

“And here I was thinking you didn’t like me the same way.” Steve just watches him for a moment. “I think we had a bit of a communication problem.”

“Yes,” Bucky agrees. “Humans don’t...say what they mean. Often. I don’t understand.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah, I get that. You’re very literal.”

“If humans said what they meant, there would be less problems,” Bucky points out. “Everyone lies and says things they don’t mean and it is...inefficient.”

“You know, I think you’re right.” Steve smiles. “Is this you saying you’ll never lie to me?”

Bucky hesitates, thinking of all the secrets he now carries, the lies he has already told since he came on land. All at once, he understands.

He looks at Steve, pulled into his earnest eyes, so full of trust.

“No,” he says, “I will not lie to you,” and even as he says it, the words turn to ash in his mouth.

“I had a good time tonight,” Steve says, hand warm around Bucky’s as they stroll along the shoreline.

“Me too.” The wind snags at Bucky’s hair, making it whip in tendrils around his face. The water is calm, moonlight glinting off the ripples and the _shush-shush_ of waves breaking on the shore the only sound.

They stop, staring out at sea, and Steve turns to him, so close Bucky can feel the heat of his body.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

Bucky only has a vague idea of what kissing is from the television, but he understands the intimacy of it in human rituals. He nods, licking his lips with slight nervousness, and Steve leans in, pressing their mouths together gently.

Steve’s lips are soft, and warm, and Bucky feels himself flush, stomach fluttering wildly as the gentle pressure sends tingles through his mouth. His eyes close of their own accord, body relaxing into Steve’s as a hand comes up to cup his face and Steve’s mouth moves slightly against his own.

_Oh._ So this is why humans like kissing.

All too soon, Steve pulls back, leaving Bucky breathless and yearning for more. He opens his eyes, blinking in the dim light as if waking from a trance, gaze glued to Steve’s lips. He reaches up to touch, dragging his finger gently across Steve’s lip and hearing the hitch of breath.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, wondering and fond all at once. Bucky looks up into his eyes, surprised by the intensity there, the possessiveness.

Steve wraps a hand around Bucky’s wrist, thumb rubbing at the fragile pulse-point.

“I should get you back,” he says softly.

“Okay.” Bucky doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay in this moment, forever. “Kiss me again?”

Steve smiles and leans back in, planting a short but sweet kiss on Bucky’s lips. Then he takes his hand again, and they walk back to the car, something new and intimate unfolding between them. When they reach Natasha’s home, Steve walks him to the door and kisses him again before letting him go with the promise of another date.

Natasha is waiting up for him, but Bucky bypasses her, heading straight for the bathroom and filling the tub with water for a long soak. He smiles as he thinks of the night, replaying the events over and over in his mind. He thought he had lost everything, the day Hydra attacked, but now he has found something new, something that is _his._ He doesn’t let himself think about when he’ll have to return at last, how he’ll manage to defeat Hydra. That can come another day. For now, he basks in his newfound happiness, a glow that lights him up from the inside out. 

“Alright,” Natasha says, expression grim. “Let’s get this over with.” She drops a stack of books and papers on the table, opening up her laptop.

Bucky tilts his head, curious. “What?”

“It’s time for _the talk.”_

“What talk?”

Natasha sinks into a chair, steepling her fingers as she considers Bucky across the table. “Dates are one thing, kissing even. I’m sure you’re terrible, and I’m sure Steve doesn’t care.”

Bucky frowns, mildly offended. Natasha levels him with a dead-eyed stare.

“Bucky, what do you know about human mating?”

“Um. They have rituals. Dates. Courting. Gifts. There is kissing.”

Natasha doesn’t seem to have blinked, and her stare is beginning to look a bit crazed.

“I’m talking about human _mating.”_

Oh. _Oh._ Bucky stares at her wide-eyed. “Mating.”

“Mating,” Natasha confirms, like someone announcing a death. “Commonly called sex.”

Bucky fights the urge to squirm. Of course he knows about mating, vaguely...well, he definitely knows the basic premises?

“I know,” Bucky starts carefully. “How we…” He blushes. “But I am unclear on humans.”

“Of course you are,” Natasha says. “Because my life can never be easy.” She sighs. “Okay, I’m going to give you a crash course. The biggest things to remember are consent and protection.”

Bucky nods, already feeling overwhelmed.

“Rule number one: Everyone involved must consent, enthusiastically. That means you want it, and Steve wants it, and you both say that, _explicitly._ Got it?”

“Yes.”

“You can tell him to stop at any time, and vice versa. If something makes you uncomfortable, you speak up.”

“Communication is important.”

“Yes, exactly. Tell Steve you haven’t done this before. And if he hurts you, or tries to make you do something you don’t want, I will kill him.”

Natasha sounds dead serious. Bucky swallows and nods, though he can’t imagine Steve ever hurting him.

“Okay, now it’s literature time.” Natasha points to the stack of books. “You’re going to read those, and then I’m going to introduce you to the wonders of the internet. And then,” she says darkly, as Bucky stares at the banana she produces with trepidation, “we are going to have a practical demonstration of protection.”

Bucky glances between her and the banana, torn between confusion and mounting horror. “I protect myself with...a banana?”

Natasha swears in Russian and drops her head on the table, banging it twice.

“Kill me,” she groans.

“Bucky?”

Bucky whistles from where he’s underwater in the tub, letting the water calm him even if the niggling itch to shift still persists. He pushes himself up, breaking the surface and glaring at Natasha.

“What?”

“You’ve been in here for two hours. Just making sure you’re okay.”

“Fine,” Bucky says mulishly, trying to hide his embarrassment under hostility. Having the intricacies of human mating explained to him by a selkie is not an experience he wants to repeat. “Just thinking.”

Natasha’s face goes through an interesting series of expressions, settling on horrified amusement.

“Don’t think too hard,” she says, strangled, turning on her heel for the door.

“What?” Bucky frowns after her, then squints in suspicion. “Nat!”

It’s no use. She disappears, shutting the door behind her. Bucky groans, slumping down in the tub again and scowling down at his human body. He feels so weak in this skin, no longer the fierce predator he was beneath the waves. There are benefits, sure, and he has grown to like the humans, especially Steve, but sometimes it still unsettles him.

He remembers with clarity the day he learned that humans cannot even be outdoors in their natural habitat too long, or their skin will _burn._ It is terrifying. They cannot go without breathing for even a _minute,_ or they will _die._ There are things in the _air_ that make them sick, and sometimes _kill_ them. They do not have adequate fat, so if they don’t wear enough clothes when it is cold they _freeze_ and _die_ . Sometimes, they get too much sunlight and then their skin turns colors and then they can _die._

Humans, it seems, are exceedingly prone to death, yet also one of the most invasive and prolific species on the planet. It makes no sense. They possess no sharp teeth, no claws, no poisonous or venomous stingers. They are terrible hunters without the aid of tools. Their social structure in some places is appalling. By all rights, they should not be a successful species, and yet by virtue of intelligence and the genius that is opposable thumbs, they are.

Bucky secretly thinks that that makes Orcan better, for they are both human and orca, and have the best qualities of both. Then again, perhaps that’s why the humans started killing them in the first place.

He wonders what it would be like, if Orcans came on land again. If _he_ stayed on land. There is so much here, a rich world he never knew existed, humans who are kind and good. He doesn’t want to leave, and yet the ocean calls to him, an itch beneath his skin that begs him to slip back into his true form. He would be helpless, again, if he were to go back now. His fin is gone. Yet he cannot stay forever as a human.

His thoughts chase themselves round and round his mind like the swirling of water around the drain as Bucky scrubs himself dry with a towel and dons his clothes again. He checks the round ‘clock’ ticking away on the counter and finds the shorter arm pointing diagonally down, which means it is approaching evening. Steve is probably still at the center, working late like he always does.

Natasha’s home is only a short drive from the center, so Bucky pulls on his shoes and, with a yell to Nat, sets out along the street. The stretching of his muscles is still foreign after these few weeks, feet sore from so much standing. The sun is getting low in the sky when he reaches the center, swiping his volunteer ID card through the device affixed to the door.

The center is quiet, the hum of the freezers barely audible. Steve sits at his desk, an expression of deep sadness on his face as he stares at a stack of papers, not noticing Bucky approach.

“Steve?”

Steve jolts, looking around and seeing Bucky. “Buck. What are you doing here?”

Bucky shrugs, perching on the edge of Steve’s desk as Steve leans back in his chair and scrubs a hand over his face, eyes red-rimmed. “I wanted to see you.”

Steve smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s sweet of you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Bucky scowls, and Steve sighs, amending his answer. “Sorry. It’s just...I’ve been holding out hope, but it’s been weeks since my orca disappeared, and he was disabled, so he couldn't…” Steve’s jaw works. “He couldn’t survive on his own. So he’s dead, somewhere, and it’s my fault.”

Bucky makes a soft sound, reaching out to touch Steve’s arm. “Steve. Why do you think it’s your fault?”

“I’m the one who advocated for letting him go. I thought – I thought if he could come back, he’d be able to stay alive, but I shouldn’t have just let him go. Something happened, or someone got him, and _I’m_ the one who left him alone and vulnerable. I failed him.”

“No.” Bucky hops off the desk, stepping close to cup Steve’s cheek. “No, you didn’t.” _I’m right here,_ he wants to say. _You saved me._

“I did,” Steve says, and his voice cracks. He leans forwards, pressing his face to Bucky’s stomach, and Bucky’s hand moves to his head, running fingers through the fine strands of hair soothingly. He wishes, for once, that he had two arms with which to comfort Steve, to wrap him in his embrace and keep him safe. He would kill anyone who tried to harm Steve.

He wonders if, this time, it is him who is harming Steve. Perhaps he had underestimated how much Steve _cares._ But when he thinks of opening his mouth and letting the words flow out, explaining everything, he only sees more danger. No, it is better for Steve not to know, not to get involved. Orcans and humans are separate for a reason.

It doesn’t stop it from hurting, an ache beneath Bucky’s breastbone that won’t go away. Steve shudders against him, and Bucky begins to hum, a whale-song that his mother used to sing for him. The grief, now, is familiar, scraping against raw edges, but he keeps humming, hand carding through Steve’s hair, and feels Steve relax against him.

When Bucky finally stops humming, Steve straightens up, giving him a shaky smile.

“You know, I’m becoming convinced you’re a siren.”

Bucky smiles. “Sirens don’t exist,” he says, instead of telling Steve that the notion of sirens came about when humans saw sea-people shifting forms in the water and heard their calls. Steve’s guess hits far too close to home, though, and he covers his discomfort by leaning down to kiss Steve.

This time, when Bucky parts his lips, Steve licks into his mouth, sending fireworks up his spine. Kissing is _wonderful,_ he has decided, and lets Steve pull him into his lap, knees braced on either side of him. Steve’s hands grasp at his lower back, kneading gently, and Bucky tangles his fingers in Steve’s hair as he focuses on mirroring Steve’s technique.

“Do you want to grab a bite to eat?” Steve asks as they part to breathe, looking up at Bucky with bright eyes.

“Yes,” Bucky says, because at this point he thinks he would agree to anything Steve asks.

Steve smiles, and kisses him again before they manage to separate, Bucky waiting as Steve grabs his things. They walk to a small place in town, and talk over burgers that Bucky sniffs suspiciously before cramming in his mouth. Bucky learns that Steve was born on the other side of the continent, but that he came out here to start the first marine rescue around. He learns that Steve’s favorite color is blue, like the ocean, and he doesn’t have any more family. He learns what he already knew – that Steve is kind, and selfless, and honest – and when Steve asks him out again he doesn’t hesitate before saying yes.

One date leads to two, leads to three. Steve invites him to his home, which seems to be a very important milestone, and Bucky scours the shoreline for the perfect rock with which to present him when he arrives.

“For me?” Steve says, quietly curious, and then, “thank you, Buck.” He carefully places the rock next to the first one in a bowl on the center of the table, and Bucky vibrates with happiness.

They watch a movie, Bucky nestled under Steve’s arm, and when it’s over they kiss, but this time it is heated and filled with expectation, their bodies pressing together through their clothes.

“Is this alright?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods breathlessly.

“I’ve never…” he says, suddenly awkward.

“Really?” Steve says, looking surprised but not off-put. “Okay. Just tell me if I do something you don’t like. We can go as slow as you want.”

Bucky highly doubts he won’t like anything Steve does, but he nods. Steve starts to trail kisses down his neck, and Bucky feels his skin heat uncontrollably. There are hands, and elbows, and limbs, and although equipped with his rudimentary knowledge Bucky feels quite out of his element, unsure what to do with all their moving parts. In the water, it is easy, because the water holds them up. Here, he’s slightly worried about Steve crushing him accidentally. He should ask Steve about doing this in the water, he thinks, before all coherent thought flees from his brain.

They make it to the bedroom, somehow, and struggle out of their clothes. Steve laughs when Bucky gets stuck, then helps him, hands steady and sure. Then they are pressing close together again, and _oh,_ Bucky didn’t know anything could feel this good.

Steve is gentle and attentive, asking Bucky if he’s okay, if he likes it, and Bucky grabs his face and drags him up and says some approximation of “I don’t care what you do just don’t stop,” in garbled English before his language faculties fail him entirely.

It feels like every bone in his body has been liquefied, like he’s been disassembled and put back together again, only with a mind-blowing pleasure that shifting never brings. He melts into the mattress, brain buzzing pleasantly and body in a state of total relaxation, muscles turned to jelly. Steve crashes down next to him, still breathing hard, and draws him close.

“Good?” he pants.

“Muhh,” Bucky garbles incomprehensibly.

Steve chuckles, and kisses his forehead. “You’re adorable.” He turns them on their sides, arms wrapped around Bucky from behind and a hand idly skating up and down his ribs. Lips press to Bucky’s scarred shoulder, and the tingle of damaged nerves makes him twitch.

“Sorry,” Steve says. “You don’t have to tell me, but...what happened?”

Bucky is on the verge of sleep, brain still fuzzy and blurred. “Humans,” he mumbles into the pillow. “Bad...humans…”

The last thing he registers before he sinks into sleep is Steve petting his side in slow strokes, just like he used to for his orca.

Bucky wakes slowly, aware of a warm body against his and a second set of breaths in his ears. A warm hand strokes down his spine, and he arches into it like a cat, cracking his eyes open.

“Good morning,” Steve murmurs, blue eyes swimming in Bucky’s vision.

Bucky smiles, and cranes his head up for a kiss. Steve obliges, mouth moving against his sweetly, everything soft and syrupy with contentment.

“I can make breakfast,” he says. “While you shower. Or…”

“Or?” Bucky tilts his head, looking down at Steve.

“Or we could shower together. Conservation and all. Saving water.” Steve grins impishly.

“Together,” Bucky answers immediately, already pushing himself up at the thought of being in the water with Steve.

Steve’s shower is all white tiles and glass doors, and the two of them fit easily, the hot water sluicing down their bodies. Steve drops to his knees, and Bucky finds Atlantis in his mouth, back braced against the shower wall and hand fisted in Steve’s hair. He tugs Steve up to repay the favor, jerking him off quickly as Steve buries his face in his neck.

Everything is so much better with the water, smooth and slippery, no friction or dry skin. They soap each other up, Steve washing Bucky’s hair and scratching slim fingers against his scalp, making him go boneless with pleasure. Bucky knows that for Orcans, who keep their hair long when in human form, hair touching is extremely intimate, and the brushing and braiding of one’s hair by a mate is an important part of courting. He still remembers his parents talking about the intricate braids they used to do in each others hair, the shells they had woven into the strands. It’s too bad Steve’s hair is short, but he thinks it suits him.

“I want you to do my hair,” he tells Steve, as he’s bundled into a fluffy towel. “Braid.”

Steve brightens and nods. “Okay, yeah, I’d love to.”

Bucky’s heart skips a beat, warmth filling him up as Steve selects a comb and instructs him to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling behind him on the mattress. He begins to work the comb through Bucky’s hair, untangling knots as Bucky sinks into the feeling, eyes slipping closed of their own accord. Steve’s fingers thread through the strands, taking their time and petting over his head. Then he begins to braid, weaving strands together, the slight _tug-tug_ of hair lulling Bucky into relaxation.

“I don’t have a hair tie,” Steve murmurs. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Bucky slurs, reaching back until he feels Steve’s hand and patting. “Thank.”

Steve kisses him on the temple, smelling of the soap they’d used, something that had distantly reminded Bucky of the ocean – sea spray and sunshine in a bottle. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders in a quick squeeze before hopping off the bed.

“Come on. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Ooooh,” Natasha says, when he comes back later that morning glowing with happiness, hair falling out of its braid.

“Shut up,” he replies, but there’s no heat to his voice. He flops down on the couch, beaming up at the ceiling.

“ _Someone_ got laid,” Natasha teases. “Congratulations. You’re a real boy now.”

“That does not make sense.” He’s pretty sure he’s as real as he was before he had sex.

“Whatever. I just have one question.”

Bucky turns, squinting at her with one eye cracked open. “What.”

Natasha looks like she’s struggling not to laugh. “Do you have to concentrate on not changing forms when you, you know, lose control?”

“Nat!” Bucky hisses, scandalized. He grabs a pillow and throws it at her.

She doges artfully, choking with laughter. “I mean, I like Steve, and I’d rather he didn’t get crushed by a whale while-”

Bucky leaps off the couch, and Natasha intelligently decides to run.

Bucky feels like he’s living on a cloud. There is a small, guilty part of him that whispers he shouldn’t be happy when Becca is still out there somewhere, lost and alone, but he knows he is doing everything he can to find her. Finding his mate can never put be put aside.

There are morning kisses and night kisses and every time in between. Bucky acquires an entire collection of hair supplies, and Steve combs and braids his hair, getting better each time. Bucky revels in going in to work after a night with Steve with his hair braided, a prominent sign of their courtship.

Everything is going well, or at least he thinks so. Steve seems happy, and none of his pod at the center disapprove of the relationship. On the contrary, they have been extremely invested and nosy. He is certain that they are true mates, and that Steve feels the same.

That is, until he walks into the office and finds Steve tipped back in his chair with an expression of bliss, Sam’s hands in his hair.


	7. Chapter 7

A sound makes Steve open his eyes and look over at where Bucky stands in the doorway staring at them. 

“Hey,” Steve says.

Bucky doesn’t respond, simply turns and walks out.

Steve sits up, glancing at Sam, who looks only mildly surprised.

“Don’t look at me,” Sam sighs, standing and patting Steve on the shoulder. “I never understand anything he does.”

Steve echoes his sigh, rubbing his forehead. He’d woken up with a stabbing headache, a sure sign that a storm was coming in. Sam had helpfully massaged his temples, but the ache remains. 

“I’m going to see what’s wrong,” he says, dragging himself up. He hurries after Bucky, catching up to him outside. Bucky’s heading for the dock, and Steve grabs his arm, startled when Bucky whips around and bares his teeth.

“Buck?” he questions. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky emits what can only be considered a shriek, eyes narrowed at Steve in anger. Steve isn’t sure what he’s done to deserve it, but it’s clear Bucky is extremely upset about something.

“Bucky, talk to me. Please.”

Bucky glares, then wrenches his arm away and stalks off, heading for the end of the dock. Steve has a moment to wonder what the hell he’s doing before he dives off, disappearing into the water.

He doesn’t reappear.

“Oh my god.” Steve runs, diving in after him. The water is still cold for late spring, choppy with the impending storm, but he ignores the shock, searching the depths frantically. He finally spots Bucky sinking like a stone, body twisting and flailing.

_ He can’t swim,  _ Steve thinks with horror, swimming down to wrap his arms around Bucky’s struggling form and kick towards the surface. Bucky splutters as they come up, choking and coughing in Steve’s arms. Steve hauls him to land, depositing him on the shore as they fight for breath.

“What the hell were you doing?” Steve growls, angry now. “You could’ve been killed!”

Bucky shoots him a glare. “The water would not kill me.” There is something about him that is predatory, sleek lines and sharp teeth, something Steve has not seen before. 

“Really?” he scoffs. “Because it looked to me like you were drowning.”

Bucky lunges forwards, face inches from Steve’s as he bares his teeth, and Steve thinks: this is how fish feel before the shark’s jaws snap shut.

“Human,” Bucky spits, like it is a curse. 

“Last I checked, so were you,” Steve replies, body coiled with tension and rapidly chilling as water drips from his clothes. 

Bucky’s jaw clenches, and then he looks away. Steve finds he can breathe again.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Steve says quietly, “but trying to drown yourself won’t help.”

“I wasn’t–” Bucky cuts off with a huff. He glances at Steve again. “I don’t understand...why…”

“Why what?” 

“I thought…” His anger seems to drain away, replaced by sadness. “I thought you wanted me.”

“What?” Steve moves closer, daring to put a hand on Bucky’s arm. “Of course I want you.”

“Then why did you. Let Sam touch your hair?”

Steve’s mind screeches to a stop, and then rewinds over the events of the morning.  _ Oh.  _ So  _ that’s  _ what Bucky is angry about.

“Buck,” he says, “he was just rubbing my head because it hurt. Sam’s a friend, nothing more. Did you really think that meant I was cheating on you?” He doesn’t understand how Bucky could think that, not from just that.

Bucky frowns. “But…” He shakes his head, then presses his lips together in confusion as he murmurs almost to himself. “For you, is it not...does it not mean…” He looks up at Steve. “In my...culture, if you touch someone’s hair it is...courtship.”

“Oh.” Suddenly Bucky’s constant requests for him to do his hair make more sense. “I’m sorry, I had no idea. In, um, my culture? It’s not really that big a deal. Lots of people touch each other’s hair. It doesn’t have to be romantic or anything. Like I said, Sam’s a friend. You don’t have to be jealous of him.” He places his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “But next time, you need to just tell me what’s bothering you instead of running away. That wasn’t okay.”

Bucky looks down, expression ashamed. “I’m sorry. I should not have...assumed. I was...angry, because I thought you did not want me anymore. I am...happy, with you.”

“I’m happy with you, too.” Steve smiles, setting a hand on Bucky’s cheek. “And I’ll always want you.”

Bucky smiles back, relief in his eyes, and then shivers. His skin is freezing under Steve’s hand, and both of them are completely soaked. 

“What do you say we dry off?” Steve says. 

Bucky nods, and lets Steve pull him towards the center. 

“Maybe I could even do your hair?” Steve asks hesitantly. 

Bucky dips his head, smiling, and then plasters himself against Steve without care for their wet clothes. Steve wraps an arm around him and tugs him close, and thinks  _ we’re gonna be okay. _

Their joined hands swing between them as they walk out of the theater, streetlights coming to life as the sun sinks below the horizon. 

“How do they  _ do  _ that,” Bucky asks, with the same wide-eyed wonder he’d stared at the screen with during the movie. “They made it look real but it was not.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, CGI is pretty good nowadays. I mean, all the lands were pretty impressive.”

“Yes. But.” Bucky leans against Steve’s side. “Atlantis is better.”

“Atlantis, huh?” Steve loves that Bucky’s caught on to the siren jokes. “What’s that look like?”

“It is...beautiful,” Bucky says. “Golden. There are...sculptures. Big. Things that glow. They light it up, so it...shines. Like the sun.”

“Huh. Well, you’ll just have to take me one day.”

Bucky glances up at him, brow furrowed. “You would drown.”

Steve grins wryly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” They reach the car, and Steve opens the door for Bucky, ushering him in. It’s a short drive to his house, the tension ratcheting up as Steve rests his hand on Bucky’s thigh. They shuffle in the door, Bucky seemingly doing his best to impersonate a leech. Steve loses focus with the feeling of his mouth on his neck, teeth occasionally scraping sensitive skin.

“This-ah-this way–” Steve manages, towing them towards the bedroom. He detaches Bucky long enough to get his shirt off and wrestle with Bucky’s, finally getting it over his head and throwing it somewhere in the room. 

Bucky grabs him by the belt and tugs him back in, crashing their mouths together as his hand clamps around the back of Steve’s neck. Steve’s hands settle on Bucky’s waist, feeling the smooth skin and the hint of scars that appear as his hand travels up the left side. He gently maneuvers Bucky towards the bed until he can push him down onto it, crawling over him and kissing a path down his chest. He kisses each knotted scar on Bucky’s shoulder and side, and is surprised by the high-pitched sound that Bucky emits when he kisses his stomach, body twisting under him.

“Ticklish?” Steve teases.

Bucky makes another sound and threads his hand into Steve’s hair, shoving his head downwards.

Steve chuckles, by now used to Bucky going nonverbal at this stage. He’s incredibly responsive, and has made it fairly clear he hadn’t ever done this before, which surprises Steve. But then again, it’s also clear Bucky has been through some sort of trauma, one that took his arm and possibly affected his brain – he doesn’t have a Russian accent, but rather speaks like someone trying to relearn English. Steve doesn’t know the story, besides that his family was killed, but he can imagine Bucky didn’t have a normal life. He acts like someone who’s never seen the real world before.

Steve, then, is determined to give him as many good experiences as possible. Sex seems to be a pretty big positive. When asked what he had liked each time, Bucky had simply said  _ all of it.  _ It’s quite the ego-boost.

This time, Bucky, in an impressive show of strength, gets his legs around Steve’s hips and flips them over, straddling him with a victorious smile. Steve is content to lay back as Bucky explores, mouthing over Steve’s body like he’s a particularly tasty ice-cream cone. 

“Is this good?” Bucky asks breathlessly, eyes more black than blue and hair in disarray around his face. It’s adorable.

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve says, pleased to see Bucky feels more confident about reciprocating. “It’s perfect.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkle with happiness, but he nods seriously like he’s taking notes inside his head. Maybe he is, Steve thinks. He’s a very strange individual. Somehow, though, his weirdness meshes with Steve’s weirdness perfectly, like a beautiful sushi-roll of love. 

Steve snorts out a laugh, and Bucky pauses, looking up at him quizzically from where he’s gnawing on Steve’s hipbone.

“Sorry,” Steve says, blushing. “I was thinking about sushi.”

Bucky just nods, like that’s a perfectly reasonable thing to be thinking about during sex, and then his mouth is traveling lower –  _ oh god, yes, how is he so good at this  _ – and all thoughts of sushi disappear from Steve’s mind.

Steve wakes first to Bucky wrapped around him like a three-limbed octopus, hair tickling his nose. He runs a hand over Bucky’s sleep-warm skin, surprised as ever by its softness. His fingers trace upwards, over the small scars that litter the left side of Bucky’s torso and become more numerous as they travel up, the end of his stump knotted with them. It must have been some sort of explosion, to cause the pattern of scars, but Bucky has never told him. 

_ Bad humans,  _ is all he had said, in the same distancing language he uses, particularly when he is upset. Another marker of trauma, Steve thinks. Separating himself from people, othering them as if he, too, is not human. Bucky is weird, yes, but under all that weirdness is pain and sadness; someone broken trying to heal.

Steve runs gentle fingers through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky arches into the touch in his sleep, making a soft churring noise in his throat like a cat’s purr. He noses at Steve’s neck, breathing deeply and then relaxing.

Steve’s fingers return to mapping the scars on Bucky’s side, and he can’t help but be reminded of the last time he’d seen this pattern of scars – on the orca. It must be some kind of trick of fate to lose the orca and then gain Bucky, with his mirrored injuries and ocean eyes, with his dead parents and missing sister, with his eccentricities and strangeness.

_ Maybe not a trick _ , his mind whispers. Thor’s words echo in his ears, tales of ocean protectors, beings who can change their form. 

_ This is ridiculous,  _ he chastises himself.  _ Humans can’t change into animals, or animals into humans. You’re trying to connect dots where there aren’t any. _

The problem is, the dots do connect. Too well.

Bucky shifts in his hold, making a soft sound of distress. His leg jerks, breaths coming short and fast. 

“Shh.” Steve rubs his back, and slowly, Bucky settles, waking with a soft jolt. 

“Steve.” He blinks up at him, breaths still uneven.

“Hey. You were having a bad dream, I think.”

Bucky flops back down, mashing his face against Steve’s collarbone and mumbling something indistinct. Steve continues to rub his back until his breathing evens. Bucky rolls off his chest, and Steve turns on his side so they’re facing, watching the hard set of Bucky’s jaw.

“Can I ask you something?”

Bucky’s eyes flicker up to meet his. “Okay.”

“You’re from Russia, right? I mean, Natasha says you’re family, and she’s notoriously tight-lipped but I know she’s Russian. I don’t know, I guess I’m just wondering where you’re from exactly.”

Bucky is silent a moment, not looking at him. “We...traveled,” he finally says. “But mostly stayed in one area.”

Steve frowns. Another evasive answer, like always. For all that Steve  _ knows _ Bucky, knows his heart, he has realized that he barely knows anything about him. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he says.

He can see Bucky search for an answer and fail, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“You never talk about your past,” Steve notes carefully. “I just...I want to know you. All of you.”

Bucky’s eyes flick to his again, troubled, and he shakes his head, brow furrowed in pain. “You don’t.”

Steve reaches out, brushing a lock of hair out of Bucky’s face. “You can tell me anything, Buck,” he says softly. 

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say. Bucky’s expression shutters and he sits up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and hunching into himself with his back to Steve.

“Buck.” Steve reaches out, and Bucky flinches minutely when he touches his shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“I  _ can’t,”  _ Bucky chokes out, voice wrecked and body shuddering slightly under Steve’s hand.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but Bucky, you have to know by now there’s nothing you could tell me that would change how I see you.”

Bucky makes a strangled sound at that, hunching further in on himself. 

“Don’t make me lie to you,” he whispers. 

“Why can’t you tell me the truth?”

“Because they killed my family,” Bucky says abruptly, turning to face him with wild eyes. “And they took my sister. And I can’t-I can’t lose you too.” His voice breaks, and he presses his forehead to Steve’s, a trembling hand cupping his cheek. 

Steve had known there was something bad in Bucky’s past, but this is  _ bad.  _ He is still running from  _ someone,  _ someone dangerous. 

He closes his eyes, bringing a hand up to cover Bucky’s. “I won’t let that happen. I’m with you till the end of the line.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can, and I will. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Bucky shudders, and then pulls away. “I need to go.”

Steve’s heart drops to his feet. “Bucky, no–”

“Not long,” Bucky says, hand gentle on Steve’s cheek. “I just...need to think.” When he pulls back, Steve feels cold, watching numbly as Bucky dresses and gathers his things. 

“Steve.” Bucky kneels on the bed, grabbing his hand and placing something into his palm. He folds Steve’s fingers over it, then drops a kiss to his knuckles before leaving. Steve uncurls his fingers once he’s gone to find a rock sitting in his palm, smooth and grey.

Steve rubs the smooth stone between his fingers, staring at it in contemplation as his coffee rapidly cools on his desk. It’s the fifth such rock Bucky has given him, but he has no idea what it means. Usually, Bucky will give him a rock on a date, presenting it like a precious gift and beaming when Steve adds it to his growing collection. It obviously has some importance to Bucky, but for the life of him Steve can’t figure it out, and he doesn’t want to be rude and ask. But it’s...a rock? What’s so important about a rock? More importantly, does the fact that Bucky gave him a rock after their argument mean he’s coming back, or was it a goodbye?

Thor passes by him, jabbing at the coffee maker with one large finger and looking over. “Oh! That is a very precious gift,” he says, completely serious. “You’re very lucky. Bucky must care for you a great deal.”

Steve blinks, nonplussed. “Right…?” He looks at the rock again. Is he going insane? It’s a rock, isn’t it? A rock?

“Is the rock...special?” he asks, a little desperately, dying to know why Bucky felt it was important to give him  _ this  _ rock. It is debatably nice-looking, very round and smooth, but otherwise it is completely unremarkable.

Thor just smirks knowingly and walks away, leaving Steve staring after him.

“Sam,” he says pleadingly, as the man in question walks in a minute later, towel slung around his shoulders. “Look at this rock.”

Sam looks at the rock, then at Steve, with an expression that says he’s a little concerned for Steve’s mental health. “It certainly is...a rock?”

“Thank you!” Steve nearly shouts. “That’s what I said! That’s what normal people say.”

Sam’s concerned stare intensifies. Natasha trails in after him, taking one look at the rock in Steve’s hand and grinning like a cat that got the cream.

“Did Bucky give that to you?”

“...Yes,” Steve says, squinting at her suspiciously.  _ What does she know? _

She walks over and pats him on the shoulder. “I hope you know how lucky you are. No one has ever gotten me something like that.”

“Well,” Steve prevaricates, “I mean, I didn’t think rocks were a common gift?”

“Oh, Steve. You’re too cute.” Natasha ruffles his hair and leans over his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out one day.”

She straightens up and grabs the full coffee pot, waltzing out of the room.

“Figure out what?” Steve calls after her. “What do you mean?”

Natasha just waves, skipping away. Steve turns his gaze on Sam, who shrugs helplessly.

“Don’t look at me. Everyone here is bat-shit crazy.” He tilts his head, looking contemplative. “Maybe it’s a Russian thing? I mean, they’re both Russian, right?”

Steve groans and drops his head on the table with a loud  _ thunk. _

Steve is doing inventory on their food at the end of the day when Bucky comes in, hair damp and soaking into the hem of his shirt. He walks right up to Steve and drops his head against his chest, smelling of salt and sand.

“Buck?” Steve hesitantly lifts his arms to wrap them around Bucky, and Bucky relaxes against him, sighing softly. “Where have you been?”

“Swimming,” Bucky says into his shirt.

“I didn’t know you could swim.”

Bucky laughs, but it sounds choked. He pulls back to look up at Steve from under tangles of hair. “I have been thinking.”

Steve swallows, searching Bucky’s eyes. “And?”

“Mates...tell each other things. They trust.”

“Yes. They do.” 

“But it is...hard. When trust is dangerous. I want to tell you. But. I don’t know if I can.”

“Okay,” Steve says carefully, realizing that Bucky is extending an olive branch. “What does that mean for us?”

“I want you. I want us.” Steve’s heart leaps. “But.” It plummets down to earth. “I can’t tell you everything. Not yet. I will...try, but you have to trust  _ me.” _

Steve exhales, taking in Bucky’s earnest, hopeful expression and feeling his pulse level out. Bucky wants him to trust him. Bucky can’t tell him everything yet, but he will. It’s a promise he can live with.

“Yes,” he says, “Yes, I trust you. I’ll wait however long you need.”

Bucky smiles, bright as the sun, and kisses him.


	8. Chapter 8

“I don’t understand why humans don’t like fat people,” Bucky says, as he struggles with the wetsuit. “Fat is very useful. It keeps you warm. I am always cold in this body.”

“You know, that’s true,” Steve replies from behind him, tugging the wetsuit over Bucky’s shoulders. “We really do have a body image problem, and don’t appreciate all the different types of bodies for the different things they can do. Also...” he wraps his arms around Bucky, nuzzling at his neck. “I can always warm you up if you’re cold.”

“Yes.” Bucky turns his head to peck Steve on the lips, swaying with the motion of the boat. “But not now. I do not think I can get this thing off.”

Steve laughs, reaching around to help him zip up the wetsuit. It’s a little like Bucky’s orca skin, smooth and warm, but it’s definitely not worth the struggle of getting it on. 

Steve carefully pins up his empty sleeve, then helps him with his gear, which apparently helps humans to breathe underwater.

“Why do you not swim to the surface?” Bucky asks in confusion.

“Well, we’d have to keep coming up every minute,” Steve explains. “This way, we can stay under longer and go really deep. And we don’t have to hold our breath.”

“I can hold my breath a long time.”

Steve blushes inexplicably. “Uh, yeah. I’ve noticed.” He checks his gear one last time and then explains how to use the breathing device to Bucky, and the importance of going up and down slowly, and that he’ll be right here if anything happens.

“I will be fine,” Bucky assures him. “The ocean is my home.”

Steve gives him one of his looks, like he’s trying to figure him out. Bucky knows that Steve suspects something, that he has an inkling that Bucky may not be human, but is not sure what to think yet. He will tell him, eventually. He meant what he told Steve, has been trying to tell him more and more. But it is not time yet for him to know everything.

Steve finally huffs and shakes his head. “Maybe we’ll find Atlantis down there.”

“No. It is far away. Warm waters.”

“You know, I can never tell if you’re joking or not.”

Bucky smiles and pulls the goggles over his eyes. Together they sit on the edge of the boat, fixing their mouthpieces in place, and then Steve slides into the water, offering Bucky a hand. 

The water is cool and inviting, made warm by the wetsuit, and Bucky has to brace himself to keep the shift from taking over. His body wants to lengthen, wants to cut through the waves, but he cannot let it.

The heavy canister on his back is weightless in the water, and the view from beneath the waves is so familiar it aches. The flippers on his feet turn out to be quite useful, like a seal’s, and though it feels weird to suck in breaths through the respirator he doesn’t have to worry about surfacing. He follows Steve as they make their way to the ocean floor, fish darting past and shy crabs scuttling along the sandy bottom. Starfish adorn the rocks, bursts of color among waving fronds, and Steve points excitedly to a tiny octopus that swims away as soon as they spot it. 

Bucky imagines what it would be like to swim with Steve in his true form, to show him the wonders of the ocean. To dive deep and retrieve the perfect rock for him, show him how to hunt. It seems an impossible dream, now.

Instead he grabs for Steve’s hand as they swim, seeing the ocean with new eyes. Everything is more colorful in human form, and his smaller size means he doesn’t have to worry about dislodging the corals. The tiny octopus comes out to play again, and Bucky lets go of Steve’s hand to reach for it, pleased when it wraps its tentacles around his wrist inquiringly. He rubs its smooth body, tickling the underside, and then laughs when it finally zooms away, kicking up sand on the ocean floor. 

By the time they surface, the sun has moved overhead, the boat bobbing on the waves. They haul themselves up to sit on the open back and strip off their gear, Steve unzipping his wetsuit to hang around his waist and reveal smooth, tanned skin. The sunlight glistens off the drops of water rolling down his chest, and Bucky grins before reaching out and grabbing Steve, pulling him into the water.

“Bucky!” Steve yelps, arms flailing in the water. Bucky shuts him up with a kiss, smiling against his lips. This,  _ this  _ is perfect. Everything is so much easier in the water.

He wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, and their combined weight make them sink, water closing over their heads. Bucky loops his arm around Steve’s neck and kisses him, before gently nudging him to the surface as he remembers humans’ breathing requirements. Steve sucks in a breath as they come up, coughing twice and laughing.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to drown me.”

“I won’t let you drown,” Bucky assures, running his fingers through the wet spikes of Steve’s hair. He presses another quick kiss to his lips, salty and wet, and then pulls back. “Wait here.”

“What-?”

He dives, kicking downwards towards the ocean floor. Hands are extremely useful, he thinks, as he searches until he finds the perfect rock, clasping it with his fingers and swimming upwards towards the surface. He spots Steve above him, legs treading water, and on playful instinct grabs his ankle, dodging the reflexive kick and hearing a muffled shriek. He surfaces, laughing, to see Steve looking like a startled rabbit, eyes wide.

“Bucky.” Steve exhales in relief. “You were down there so long, I thought something had happened.”

Bucky smiles at the thought. As if. He holds out the rock proudly. 

“Oh. Thanks.” Steve accepts his gift with a fond smile. “You do love your rocks, don’t you.” He grabs Bucky and plants a kiss on his temple. “It’s adorable. I love it.”

Bucky beams, and tackles Steve back into the water.

“Steve. Steve.” Bucky shakes Steve urgently, panicked. “Wake up.”

“Mmmph. What is it?” Steve cracks open an eye, rolling over slightly in bed.

“I think I am dying.”

“What?” Steve grunts more awake, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky waves frantically at his visible skin, which overnight has reddened alarmingly, skin tight and shiny. He’d noticed discomfort starting yesterday, a strange itchiness and redness that he thought was exertion, but this is serious. What if he’s stayed too long in human form? What if he has skin cancer? What if he’s actually dying?

Steve chuckles. “Wow, you’re really sunburned. Should’ve worn sunscreen.”

“This isn’t funny,” Bucky hisses. “Is it permanent? Is my skin going to fall off? Am I going to get cancer?”

“Whoa, whoa. Bucky.” Steve looks like he’s fighting a smile as he reaches out and rubs Bucky’s arms. Even that hurts, and Bucky hisses in pain, twitching away. “Sorry. Look, it’s just a sunburn. You spent too much time in the sun, that’s all. It’ll go away in a few days. And you won’t get cancer, not from one sunburn.”

“I’m not dying?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.” Bucky takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“I’ll get you some aloe vera.” Steve still looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Sorry. You just look like a lobster.”

Bucky scowls. “I do  _ not.”  _

“Sure,” Steve agrees, eyes twinkling. “Whatever you say.”

“I hate being human,” Bucky grouses. 

“Are you sure about that? Cause if you aren’t human, I’m not having sex with you.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve. “Okay,” he concedes. “There are good things. But this?” he points to his bright red face. “This  _ bad.” _

“Aww, honey, let me make it better.” Steve pulls him close with a wicked smile, and Bucky does have to admit that sex is a huge,  _ huge  _ positive to being human. Even better is after, when Steve buys aloe vera and then spends an hour rubbing it into Bucky’s sore skin, kneading at knotted muscles and reducing him to a puddle of goo. He thinks he wants to stay human forever, just to keep Steve’s hands on him.

“Really? Right in front of my salad?” Sam complains, as Bucky tilts his head up for a kiss, scalp tingling at the feeling of Steve’s hands in his hair. He raises his middle finger without looking, smiling against Steve’s lips when he hears Sam’s scandalized gasp. He has no idea why the raising of one finger is offensive to humans, but it’s very effective.

“Boys.” Natasha’s voice is tight, making them look up instantly. Her expression is grim, eyes seeking out Bucky. “We’ve got another Hydra sighting. Out by the northern point. Looks like they’re trying to capture a dolphin pod.”

Bucky’s heart freezes in his chest. Steve is already up, gathering his things, but he can only sit frozen, horror spreading through him. 

“Bucky.” He jolts at the hand on his shoulder, looking up to see Steve. “Are you coming?”

He swallows and nods. He has to go. For his family, for Becca.

This time, when they load up the boat, there are no jokes, no friendly teasing. The quiet is pervasive, tension stretched thin over them like a rubber band. Nat squeezes Bucky’s shoulder. Thor is somber and pensive; sunshine optimism nowhere to be found. A muscle jumps in Steve’s jaw, eyes hard as stone. Peter and Shuri are left behind, wide-eyed and protesting, Tony and Bruce ushering them away.  

Even the weather seems to agree with them, grey clouds rolling on the horizon, the water dark and choppy. The hum of the engine grates in Bucky’s ears, the familiar scent of seaspray only bringing memories of pain and fear. His heart thumps in his ears, and he doesn’t notice he’s stopped breathing until Steve’s hand lands between his shoulder blades, eyes questioning.

“Hey. You okay?”

Bucky manages a weak grimace. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t have to come with us.”

Bucky clenches his jaw. “Yes. I did.”

“Okay.” It’s clear Steve knows something is off, but he doesn’t press, wrapped up in his own head. Bucky knows Steve’s hatred of Hydra, his frustration, knows the nights he’s spent unable to sleep because of it. He’s had plenty of sleepless nights himself. But.

Steve doesn’t know why Bucky hates Hydra, beyond a love for sea creatures. And Bucky doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this from him, how much longer he  _ wants  _ to. It is inevitable, a looming deadline he can’t escape, can’t run from. Steve will find out, and then...well. On those sleepless nights, Bucky has had plenty of time to think of how he will react. 

It isn’t good.

He hears it first – the frantic squealing of dolphins, angry clicks and screeches. Yelling, the roar of a boat, the splashing of water. The scene comes into view as their boat rounds the bend, speeding down the channel. Dolphins are hemmed in by a net, being herded into sections, the young cut off from the old. Small boats surround the larger one, the Hydra insignia a bright splash of red against the cold grey sides. Rage kindles in Bucky’s chest.

“Stop!” Steve calls as they draw close, straight-backed and vibrating with anger. Bucky knows the police-people have been called, knows they are not supposed to confront, but he doesn’t care and neither does Steve. This is their fight.

There’s a commotion in the Hydra ranks, orders shouted to wrap up. They’re going to get away. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, turning to him. “Steve.”

Steve meets his eyes, and understanding sparks in his eyes. He nods grimly. 

“Pull us up to them,” he tells Natasha. 

“What?” Sam barks. “You’re crazy. We’re not getting any closer. The Coast Guard will handle this.”

“So what, we’re just supposed to let them get away?” Steve’s knuckles whiten on the railing. “The Coast Guard won’t get here in time. Sam, this is our only shot.”

Sam hesitates, then glances at Nat, who nods. He sighs. “Alright. I’m with you. Let’s get these sons of bitches.”

Nat revs the engine, and they pull up close, a hasty plan whispered among them. Thor and Sam jump into the water, cutting through the nets, as Steve latches onto the side of the main boat, pulling himself onto the deck. Clint takes over the wheel as Nat turns to Bucky, expression edged with ice. 

“Ready?”

Bucky nods tersely, and Nat gets a hand under his foot, boosting him up as Steve reaches over the side to grab his hand. He’s pulled onto the deck, steadying himself on Steve and waiting as Nat gracefully clambers aboard as well. They’re surrounded, Hydra workers buzzing like bees around them. Two young dolphins are already hanging from slings, dripping onto the deck. Bucky grinds his teeth together. 

“Stop what you’re doing!” Steve shouts, pushing forwards into the fray and drawing attention. Nat nudges Bucky and they slip away, sneaking towards the dolphins. Bucky clicks, soothing them, while Nat lowers the boom and cuts away the fabric, freeing both. They flop to the deck, wriggling, and Bucky whistles, calming them enough to push them back into the water. 

“Hey!” 

Two men are advancing angrily, eyes on them. Bucky can hear Steve in the background, arguing with someone, but he’s too far away. He widens his stance, baring his teeth. 

Before he can do anything, Natasha darts forwards. A punch, a kick, a swirl of graceful limbs, and the men hit the deck, groaning. Bucky gapes. 

“What?” Natasha says breathlessly, flicking her hair out of her face. “You think they taught me to be  _ nice?” _

Well. She had said she’d been raised to fight. He hadn’t quite grasped what that meant until now. Selkie or no, she’s terrifying.

The sudden pitch of raised voices makes them turn in time to watch Steve take a punch to the face. Bucky sees red. 

He’s across the deck in a flash, slamming into the man and sending them both tumbling to the deck. He hits hard, cursing his weak human body as he grapples with the man. He screeches, sinking his teeth into the nearest piece of flesh and hearing a pained grunt. A strong arm loops around his neck, cutting off his air, and then he’s being hauled to his feet, pressed backwards against a firm chest. 

He thrashes, words lost to inhuman screeches, rage blinding him to anything but primal instinct.  _ Kill.  _

He cannot breathe through the pressure on his throat, but it doesn’t matter. He can hold his breath for many minutes. He twists, biting into the arm holding him, and there’s swearing in his ear before something clicks to his right, and Steve’s voice breaks through the haze as something cold is pressed to his temple.

“Bucky! Stop!”

He stills, eyes flicking up to find Steve. Steve is frozen at the edge of the boat, hands in the air, surrendering.  _ Why? _

“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot,” the voice in his ear says, even despite the man’s labored breaths. Bucky’s gaze flicks right, where a silver gun glints in his peripheral vision. 

Abruptly, Bucky wishes for air. He knows what a gun does, knows it can kill a human. Can rip through fragile skin and muscle, can shatter bone and stop a heart. It can kill him. It can kill Steve.

His eyes find Steve’s again, wide and panicked. 

“Just let him go,” Steve says, hands still in the air. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” the man replies, tightening his grip. “You’ve caused me a lot of problems. But I should be thanking you. Here I thought this area was barren, but it seems you’ve brought one right to me. So, tell me–” the gun presses more firmly against Bucky’s temple “–what are you, exactly?”

Bucky hisses through his teeth. No.  _ No.  _ Somehow, this man knows about him, knows he’s not human.

“What are you talking about?” Steve demands.

There’s a chuckle, and Bucky squirms in the man’s grip. “Are you telling me you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Oh my. Someone’s been keeping secrets.” The arm tightens and then loosens, allowing him to breathe. “Answer me. What are you?”

Bucky growls wordlessly. 

The gun clicks, and then it’s being aimed at Steve, and Bucky’s blood runs cold.

“Tell me, or I shoot him.”

“Orcan,” Bucky finally spits, not meeting Steve’s eyes. 

“How many of you are there, here?”

Bucky stays silent. 

“Three, two–”

“None!” Bucky snaps. His chest heaves. “I’m the only one left. You  _ killed  _ them. You killed them and took my sister, and I’m going to kill you.”

“Bucky?” Steve breathes. Bucky glances at him, catalogues the helpless confusion in his eyes. Feel his soul crumble to ash. 

“Sister?” The man sounds intrigued. 

“Where is she?” Bucky growls, English mangled and slurred with distress. “What did you do to her?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar!” Bucky struggles until the gun on Steve makes him slump. “You took her. I was there. You killed my parents and took her and left me to die!”

“The orca,” the man says in astonishment. “I should’ve known. Of course that was you.” He laughs. “Oh, if only we’d known. We thought it was mundane. No, we don’t have your sister. Not anymore.”

“ _ Where is she _ ?”

Bucky can feel the man shrug against him. “SeaWorld, I think. Such a shame. Well, she may be lost, but now we have you. A fair trade, I think. We leave the dolphins alone, and take him? In fact, we’ll leave this whole area alone. What do you say?”

He can tell the man is talking to Steve, but he can’t make himself look at the expression on Steve’s face. Can’t bear to hear him abandon Bucky, now that he knows. 

“No,” Steve says, and Bucky sucks in a breath, looking up at him. Steve’s eyes are blazing, confusion still lurking in the depths but no hatred, no disgust. He looks like he would fight the whole world if it would keep Bucky safe.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says, and his voice is cold as the arctic waters, “but you’re not taking him. You want him, you’ll have to go through me first.”

The man sighs. “I thought you might say that.” And then he pulls the trigger.

The crack of the gun is deafening, echoing in the air. Steve staggers, eyes wide and shocked as red blooms on his chest, and then he topples over the side, towards the water below.

“No!” Bucky screams, ears ringing and world tilting in his vision. He struggles against his captor, and then suddenly the arm around him loosens and he wastes no time, leaping forwards and throwing himself off the side. 

He shifts in midair, legs lengthening into a tail, fin ripping through his shirt. The water welcomes him into its embrace as he plunges down, eyes trained on Steve’s form sinking steadily down. A powerful stroke of his tail and he reaches him, teeth latching onto his arm gently and tugging him up, towards the surface. He propels them to the bank, listing left, and deposits Steve gently on the shore, beaching himself beside him. Steve sputters and coughs up water, eyes opening and finding Bucky.

Bucky shifts, smooth skin receding into soft, tail exchanged for legs. He draws a breath through human lungs and shakily crawls up the bank, leaning over Steve.

“Bucky,” Steve rasps, expression wondering. Then his eyelids flutter, eyes rolling back, and he slumps, unconscious.

“Steve?” Bucky presses a shaking hand to his cold cheek. “Steve?” He pats. “Wake up. Steve.” He looks down at the blood spreading on Steve’s chest, and terror seizes him. “Steve.” His voice cracks. “No. No.”

Footsteps crunch on rock and Bucky’s head whips up, teeth bared and body hunched over Steve’s protectively. 

“Peace, my friend.” Thor crouches down, gaze understanding. “We can help him.”

After a moment, Bucky nods, and Thor waves the rest of them over, approaching Bucky the way one would a wounded animal. He produces a blanket while Sam bends over Steve, hands pressing at his chest, eyes occasionally darting to Bucky in disbelief. The boat is floating near the shore, Clint and Nat still picking their way across the shoreline.

“Here,” Thor says, carefully wrapping the blanket around Bucky’s shoulders and drawing him away from Steve. “We must get you away when the authorities arrive.”

“What?” Bucky can barely comprehend what he’s saying, too focused on Steve still barely breathing on the ground. 

“Your existence must be kept secret,” Thor says, low voice soothing. “Come, let’s get you away. Steve is in good hands.”

“No,” Bucky protests. “No, I won’t leave him.”

“Just before the police arrive. There will be too many questions. Hydra knows. Everyone saw.”

“Saw?” Bucky blinks, turning to Thor. 

“Hydra knows you are Orcan,” Thor repeats, meeting his gaze. “We must keep you safe, as well as Steve.”

“You...know?” Bucky stares at Thor in confusion. He must know. He does not seem surprised; had known what he is called. He must know.

Thor smiles, a sad, crooked thing. “My brother was of the sea. Adopted.” He tugs again on Bucky’s shoulders. “I will tell you about it. But not here.”

Bucky swallows, then nods, following Thor with a last look back at Steve. Sirens wail in the distance, and on the water, the Hydra ship floats still, smoke curling up into the sky. 

“He’s in surgery now,” the doctor tells them, hair streaked with grey and eyes tired, “but he should pull through. We’ll let you know when it’s done.”

The rag-tag group huddled in the waiting room nod as one, Nat’s shoulder pressing against Bucky’s in comfort. He’s dressed in Thor’s sweatpants, rolled at the ankles and waist, and a shirt that says  _ SHIELD Marine Rescue  _ in blocky blue letters against a white background. He’d chucked off the flip-flops as soon as he sat down, spooked by the constant slapping against the soles of his feet. His hair is drying in waves around his face, frizzy and knotted, and he wants nothing more than to curl up in Steve’s lap and have him brush his hair. But he can’t, because Steve is hurt, and it’s his fault.

He turns to Thor, who is sitting next to him with a solemn expression. It was Thor who had hustled him away and dressed him before taking him to the hospital, unbothered by Bucky’s panic. Now that they are here, the panic has dulled, but not left. There is nothing he can do, and he chafes at the feeling of helplessness.

“Your brother,” Bucky says, voice low. The nine of them are just about the only ones in the waiting room, but he can’t be too careful. “Tell me about him?”

The side of Thor’s mouth lifts in a small smile. “Neither of us knew he was adopted until he was older. Our father found him on the beach as a baby, abandoned, and took him in.” He shakes his head, chuckling slightly. “We fought like only brothers could. But one day, he went into the water, and he realized he was more than human. He was…” His expression grows troubled. “Very angry. We had grown up with the legends, about the protectors of the sea, but our parents never told us that Loki was one of them. Perhaps they didn’t want him to feel different. I do not know.”

Thor shrugs, rubbing at his beard. “Finally, he left, after many harsh words were exchanged. It was many months before I saw him again, and he was distant and bitter. Our contact is scarce, but I am glad for anything. I have learned much about his and your kinds since then. I suspected what you were, but I did not want to say anything for fear of losing your trust.”

Bucky digests this, feeling the warm press of Natasha’s arm against his as she no doubt does the same. It’s no use pretending she hadn’t been listening.

“Thank you,” he says. “For telling me. I am glad to have an ally.”

Thor shakes his head, one large hand clasping Bucky’s shoulder. “Not just an ally. A friend, if you wish.”

Bucky smiles. “A friend.”

Steve groans, eyelids fluttering, and everyone falls silent, huddled around the bed. Bucky leans forward in his chair, hand clutching Steve’s.

“Steve?”

A breath, then two. Steve cracks his eyes open, looking around blearily. 

“Bucky,” he croaks. 

Nat appears with a glass of water, coaxing Steve to drink. Steve seems to wake up further, blinking at his friends.

“Hey,” Sam says, smiling in relief. “Glad to see you awake, man. You scared us.”

Steve smiles weakly, and his gaze falls on Bucky. He stares.

“I think we’re going to leave you two to talk,” Nat says tactfully, herding everyone out. “I’m glad you’re alive, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t even seem to hear her, eyes fixed on Bucky, searching his face for something. 

“Steve?” Bucky questions softly. 

“It was you,” Steve says, voice still a rasp. 

Bucky doesn’t have to ask what he’s talking about. He nods mutely, staring down at their joined hands. He wonders if Steve will tell him to leave.

“You’re a…”

“Orcan,” Bucky supplies, when Steve doesn’t continue. He chances a glance up at Steve, sees only curiosity and confusion in his eyes. He swallows and looks down again. “We are…of the sea. We change form.”

“Your family,” Steve says, a note of realization in his voice. “Hydra killed them, and took your sister. That’s who you’re searching for.”

Bucky clears his throat. “Yes,” he whispers.

Steve grunts as he shifts to sit up more against the bed. “So let me get this straight. You’re a shapeshifter that turns into an orca, or an orca into a human, whatever?”

Bucky nods.

“And you’re  _ my  _ orca. The one I rescued?”

He nods again.

“And your sister is an orca who’s been sold to SeaWorld?”

Another nod.

Steve sighs, and Bucky sees him rub his face out of the corner of his eye. “You know what this means, right?”

Bucky swallows, and nods, grief crushing his chest. Steve is going to tell him to leave, is going to hate him for the lies, for not being human. 

“We’re gonna have to break into SeaWorld.”

Bucky’s head snaps up. “What?” he croaks.

“We’re probably going to be arrested,” Steve says seriously, brow pinched in contemplation, “but hell if that’s going to stop me.”

Bucky makes a strangled noise, and Steve’s gaze snaps to him, eyes worried.

“Bucky?”

“I–” he says. “You don’t…you don’t care?”

“Care about what?”

“That…that I lied to you, that I’m not human–” 

“Bucky.” Steve’s hand lifts, palm cupping his cheek. His eyes are so gentle it hurts. “I love you. I don’t care if you’re a–a whale or whatever. It doesn’t change anything.”

“I’m not a whale,” Bucky says, but it’s ruined by the crack in his voice, the tears sliding down his cheeks. He lurches forward and presses his lips to Steve’s, kissing him like a drowning man.

“Tell me again,” he says, parting to rest his forehead against Steve’s.

“I love you,” Steve breathes, and Bucky kisses him again, because he can.


	9. Chapter 9

“Careful,” Bucky says as Steve shuffles into his house, ignoring the twinge of pain in his chest.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Steve insists, sinking into the couch with a groan. “Stop fussing over me.”

“Never.” Bucky leans down and kisses him swiftly, then climbs onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Steve smiles up at him, tracing over his features and wondering, not for the first time, at the sheer impossibility of Bucky. There is a mythical creature in his lap, right now, and he’s in love with him.

They’ve done a lot of talking over Steve’s hospital bed, Bucky telling him everything about his people and their history, the life they led. It isn’t a happy story – it is a story of death and loss – but it has happy parts. Bucky tells him of the joy of swimming, of the love for his family. He tells him of a rich culture that has nas nearly been lost, but not forgotten.

Part of Steve cannot believe it is true. Science tells him people cannot change into animals, and animals to people. But he had seen Bucky with his own eyes, watched the orca’s sleek skin melt away into soft human flesh. And he has looked into the orca’s eyes – _his_ orca’s eyes – and he has looked into Bucky’s eyes, and they are the same.

And as he listened to Bucky’s story, he felt sadness creep over him, because for as much as Steve loves him, Bucky is not his to keep. He belongs to the sea, and he belongs with his family. And when they rescue his sister, he knows Bucky will return home. He will visit, perhaps, but Steve knows he cannot ask him to stay on land. It will break his heart, but when the time comes, he will let Bucky go.

He tips his head up for a kiss and Bucky obliges, lips soft against his. His long hair tickles Steve’s face, and Steve recognizes the subtle scent of the sea that clings to him, reminding him of the magic just under his skin.

“Wait a minute,” he says as he pulls back. “What about Atlantis? Is that real?”

Bucky laughs, eyes crinkling. “Yes. Of course it is real. It was once the capital of all the seafolk. But when we parted from humans, it was put under the water. I have only been once, but it was beautiful.”

“You mentioned different kinds of seafolk,” Steve muses. “What are they?”

“There are many,” Bucky replies, sitting up slightly. “I am Orcan, but there are Selkies, Kushtaka, Baiji, Manō, Kelpie…” He makes a face.

“Kelpie are real?” Steve shudders. If mythology is true, they’re terrifying.

“Yes. There are not many left.” Bucky grows somber again, eyes full of sadness. “None of us have many left.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve settles his hands on Bucky’s hips, rubbing circles with his thumb. “I promise, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“I know.” Bucky leans down to kiss him again. “You are the best human I’ve ever known.”

“Well, I can’t say I’ve met many whales, but you’re certainly the best one I’ve known.” Steve smirks as Bucky gapes in offence.

“I’m not a whale!”

“Whatever you say.”

Bucky sputters, but Steve shuts him up with a kiss.

“Steve, let me carry it.”

“I’ve got it!” Steve twitches the bag away from Bucky’s grasp. “I’m not an invalid.”

“Yes you are.”

Steve scowls and clutches the bag tighter, shuffling towards the car. He gets a few steps and has to stop, chest burning.

“Stupid human,” Bucky grumbles, yanking the bag out of his hands. Steve puts up a feeble protest but is more concerned with trying to breathe. The window of the car rolls down and Natasha peers out, sliding her sunglasses up on her head.

“Need some help?”

“No,” Steve says.

“Yes,” Bucky says. “He is being stupid again.”

Natasha smirks as she gets out of the car, reaching out to take the bag Bucky is carrying – he has one arm, Steve thinks waspishly, _one arm_ and yet he insists on carrying everything– and raising an eyebrow. “I thought that was his natural state.”

“Hey,” Steve protests indignantly, finally reaching the car. He pretends he’s not using it for support, affecting a casual lean. “Bucky still thinks I need babying just because I’m a little sore.”

“Hmm.” Natasha doesn’t look impressed. “Remind me how long ago you got shot?”

“Three weeks.” Steve rolls his eyes. “But it’s nearly healed by now! And it wasn’t that bad. It missed all my vital organs.”

“You have a very strange definition of ‘not that bad.’”

There’s the sound of tires and a second car pulls up behind Natasha’s, its occupants spilling out. Sam is first, followed by Thor, with Clint, Tony, and Bruce close behind, sliding the door of the minivan shut behind them.

“Hey man,” Sam says, coming to stand next to Steve. “We ready?”

Steve looks around at the assembled group. “Ready. Everyone sure about this? You come with, you’re going to be breaking the law.”

“It’s a law worth breaking,” Thor says. “It will be my honor to assist the Orcan people.”

Clint shrugs. “Dunno much about mythical creatures, but I’m up for it. It’ll be fun.”

Bruce fiddles with his glasses. “I want to help Bucky and his kind. Whatever form that takes, I’m in.”

Steve looks to Tony, and Tony snorts. “You even have to ask?”

“Sam?”

Sam grins at him. “Hell yeah. Let’s go rescue a whale.”

“Not a whale,” Steve and Bucky sigh in unison.

Natasha opens the car door, slipping her sunglasses back on. “Get in, losers. We’re going to SeaWorld.” 

“So,” Steve says, scrolling through his phone as Bucky leans against the window, peering out at the passing landscape with wonder, “It looks like Hydra is almost gone for good.”

In the front, he sees Natasha’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Maybe.”

“Looks like us intercepting that last poaching attempt gave the police what they needed. They’re slowly hunting down the last major players.”

“They’ll never be gone, not completely,” Natasha says tiredly. “There will always be those who seek to harm us, to study us. Hydra is not the first, and they won’t be the last.”

“Us?”

Natasha glances at him in the rear-view mirror. “Bucky didn’t tell you?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Bucky says.

“Tell me what?”

Natasha sighs. “I’m a selkie. Or was.”

“I…” Steve blinks. “Oh. Wow.” He wonders if there’s other seafolk he’s met but just didn’t know about. It could be anyone.

Natasha sighs. “Whatever you’re thinking, no.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“Mmhmm.” But he sees her smile in the mirror.

He hesitates. “Okay, but do you really–”

“No.”

They stop at motels and eat at diners, driving across the country steadily day by day. The marine center has been left in the capable hands of one of Natasha’s contacts, a guy by the name of Fury with an eyepatch and a penchant for black leather. Steve strongly suspects he’s some terrifying sea creature, but he also doesn’t think he wants to know. Some things are better left alone.

Bucky seems entranced by the changing landscape, watching as it changes from green to brown to green again, from wet to dry and everything in between. Summer is in full swing, the sun scorching down and making them crank up the AC and chug water by the gallon. Bucky especially drains their store of water, and pouts at the lack of good fish in every place they stop for food.

“We’re too far from the ocean,” he says darkly, wrinkling his nose at the sandy soil and shuddering. “It’s not right.”

“Buck up, fishbreath,” Sam says, shoving a water bottle into his hand. “We’ll gladly dump you in the ocean when this is over.”

Bucky squints at Sam then turns to Steve. “Is he insulting me?”

Steve sighs. “You know, at this point I’m not even sure.”

“Children!” Natasha calls. “Time to go.”

With collective groaning about sore backsides and cramped legs they all pile back into the cars, squabbling over seats and snacks like the children Natasha called them. Then they’re off again, this time fighting over who gets to play music. Steve, squished in the back with Bucky and Sam, closes his eyes and drops off to sleep to Bucky and Sam bickering over his head.

When they finally arrive, the mood grows more somber, a deadly glint in Bucky’s eyes. They decide to case SeaWorld first, getting tickets and splitting up to explore. Bucky scowls at the creatures in tanks, and has a brief staring match with an octopus that turns alarming colors.

Steve knows some of these animals are kept well, others exploited by SeaWorld. Watching Bucky’s reactions usually tells him which is which.

“Ooh look, sharks,” he says as they walk through the tunnel, surrounded on all sides by water. Bucky looks momentarily awed.

“I can fight a shark,” Bucky says, narrowing his eyes at the hammerhead swimming past. “I’ve killed one before.”

A young woman nearby gives Bucky a scandalized look and Steve winces. “That’s, uh, impressive, Buck,” he tries. “Sharks are endangered though so maybe…don’t kill them?”

Bucky turns to him. “Most sharks are good. This one was stealing our fish. I killed him –” He punctuates this with a snap of his teeth “– and ate him.”

The woman carefully steps away from Bucky, side-eyeing him. Steve grabs Bucky’s arm and hastens him through the tunnel.

“Maybe don’t say stuff like that out loud.”

“Why?”

“It’s…not normal. People don’t say things like that.”

“Oh. Right.” Bucky’s eyes widen. “Yes,” he says loudly. “I am a normal human who could not fight a shark, because I am weak and my teeth are not sharp.”

Steve resists the urge to facepalm, settling for closing his eyes momentarily.

“Come on,” he says, tugging Bucky along. “Just…speak very quietly, okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, dropping his voice to a whisper. “But, you know I am very good hunter, yes? There is nothing that can beat me.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re real tough.”

“Steve.” Bucky tugs on his sleeve, eyes serious. “Just because I am missing a fin does not mean I am weak.”

“I know, Buck.” Steve frowns. “What’s this about?”

“I can prove I am the best. I will battle any creature you desire. Not a whale, though. I could beat a whale,” he says insistently. “But. I do not want to.”

Steve squints at him. “Buck, is this some kind of Orcan mating ritual thing I don’t know about?”

Bucky mumbles something incomprehensible involving clicks. “Better than them,” he finally says, gesturing vaguely to the tanks around them.

“Of course you are.” Steve chuckles fondly, tipping Bucky’s chin up with a finger. “You’re _my_ orca, remember? You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Bucky smiles. “Okay.” He sways forward for a kiss, then threads his fingers through Steve’s and presses close as they start walking again. “But,” he says, like he can’t help it. “You know I could fight anything, right?”

Steve resists the urge to laugh, tugging Bucky close and kissing his temple. “Yes, Buck,” he says. “I know you could fight anything.”

Bucky relaxes, seeming content for the moment.

When they reach the orca tank, Bucky runs to press his palm to the glass, face white.

“Do you see her?” Steve asks quietly.

Bucky nods, eyes wide and wet. He lets loose a soft stream of clicks and trills, resting his forehead against the glass. To their right, an educator is droning on, spewing misinformation.

An orca swims up to the glass, smaller than the others, and Bucky gasps, a tear slipping down his cheek. The orca bumps her nose against the glass, mouth opening, and starts to screech and cry.

“Oh wow.” The educator has stopped, everyone looking at Bucky and his sister. “I think she likes you.”

Bucky whirls on the woman, screeching angrily as he lunges at her. Steve grabs him around the middle, holding him back as everyone around them recoils.

“Bucky,” he murmurs. “Bucky, not here. Not here.”

Bucky settles, breathing harshly. He points a shaking finger at the educator. “You,” he grits out, voice accented heavily, “will pay for what you have done. I will drown you, then rip the flesh from your bones and drag you down to Atlantis.”

“Okay, okay!” Steve says loudly, dragging Bucky away. “Come on, let’s go! Sorry, everyone!”

He doesn’t stop until they’re far away, letting Bucky go and scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You can’t just do things like that,” he says. “We’re trying to be unobtrusive.”

Bucky trills angrily. “Humans,” he growls. He paces back and forth. “She’s right there!”

“I know. We’re going to get her out. You just have to be patient.”

“I know!” Bucky stops, gritting his teeth. “I know.”

“Come on.” Steve takes his arm gently. “Let’s go back to our hotel and let the others finish casing. We can start working on a plan.”

Bucky nods tiredly. “Okay.” He follows Steve as they weave back through the exhibits, seemingly lost in thought.

“You haven’t ever…” Steve starts awkwardly. “I mean…have you?”

“What?”

“Killed a person.”

Bucky frowns at him, then shakes his head. “No. We protect humans.” He speeds up, mouth an unhappy line. “Even when they do not protect us.”

They sneak in under the cover of darkness. Tony had copied a staff keycard and Natasha stole a guard uniform. No one asks what happened to the guard it came from. Clint and Tony are waiting in the getaway van – though it’s a minivan rather than the stereotypical getaway van – and Bruce is waiting with them, too stressed to contemplate actually going inside.

Steve can feel the anticipation rolling off Bucky as they navigate the twisting hallways, slipping into the staff area. One more door and they exit onto the deck by the orca tank that Becca is in, the water still and gleaming in the moonlight. Bucky strips off his clothes, takes a running start, and dives into the tank.

He hits the water with a splash, shape immediately shifting until his orca form breaches the surface, blowing a puff of air. He starts swimming towards Becca, clicks and calls muted under the water, and she meets him halfway, both of them circling each other and bumping noses.

After a minute, in which Sam checks his watch and watches the door nervously, Bucky and Becca swim up to the incline and then shift, orca forms falling away. Becca looks remarkably like Bucky except younger, with long brown hair and pale skin, eyes wide as she struggles to stand. Steve rushes forward with towels and she screeches at him, recoiling.

Bucky grabs her arm and clicks softly, pressing their foreheads together. They both take shuddering breaths, moonlight illuminating their pale skin, water beading on the surface until they seem to glow.

“I found you,” Bucky murmurs between clicks and trills. “I found you, you’re okay, I found you.”

Tears carve tracks down his wet face, and he and Becca cling to each other like they are the last people on earth, eyes closed and heads bent together. Steve feels like he is intruding on an intimate moment and looks away, swiping the moisture from his own eyes.

Eventually, Bucky pulls back, taking a towel from Steve and wrapping Becca in it. She’s shivering, wobbling on unsteady legs and clinging to Bucky like she can’t bear to let go. Bucky cups her face and warbles something softly to her before pushing her gently towards Steve. This time, Becca doesn’t fight as Steve bundles her up and lifts her into his arms, cradling her carefully. She’s a great deal smaller and lighter than Bucky, and she looks no more than twelve, eyes wide as she stares up at Steve.

“Hi,” Steve says awkwardly, as Bucky starts getting dressed.

Becca blinks at him.

Bucky shoves his feet into his shoes and touches Steve’s arm. “We have to go.” He hesitates, looking back at the tank and the other orcas still floating there. “One day,” he says. “We will free them all.”

“Yes,” Steve says. “Yes we will.”

Sam whistles, and they turn away, hurrying back through the facility. Natasha scans her keycard at every door and Thor holds them open as they dart through, Steve doing his best not to jostle Becca. Bucky stays at his side, eyes fixed on Becca as if she might disappear at any moment.

It’s a relief when they get to the van. They pile in, Becca ending up on Steve and Bucky’s laps while the rest of them squish together. They pull away with a low crunch of tires and then they are free.

Becca startles at the motion of the car and Bucky shushes her, brushing her wet hair from her forehead.

“You’re safe now,” he whispers. “I found you. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

And so they drive on, into the night.

There’s a crash from the motel bathroom and Steve and Bucky share a look.

“Everything okay in there?” Steve calls.

“Peachy!” Natasha yells back. “Sweet Atlantis, how is it harder to dress someone with two arms than one?”

Lots of trills and clicks follow, interspersed with Natasha’s swearing. Finally, the door opens and Becca emerges, hair sticking up and expression resolutely angry, but fully dressed.

“This?” She plucks at her shirt, scowling. “No.”

Bucky laughs, moving forward to smooth down her hair. “You’ll get used to it.”

When she just frowns at him, Bucky repeats it in Orcan – or at least Steve thinks he does. He has no hope of understanding the clicks and whistles that make up their language.

“We ready?” Natasha asks, leaning against the doorframe tiredly.

Steve nods. “Cars are all filled up. Tony and Bruce even got a whole cooler full of fish in the back.

“Thank God for Florida.”

“I’m pretty sure God has abandoned Florida.”

“Eh, probably.” Natasha claps her hands. “Alright, everyone, let’s go! The sooner we leave, the sooner we’re back home.”

Bucky herds Becca out the door and into the car, wrangling her seatbelt despite her protests and fussing over her like a mother hen. Steve thinks it’s cute. He climbs into the front with Natasha and they wave to the van as they pull out of the parking lot and onto the road.

One cross-country trip to Florida done, one Orcan saved. Now they only have another interminably long road trip home, with a teenage Orcan who knows two words of English and nothing about human culture.

It’s going to be great.

One week, five meltdowns, two shredded pieces of clothing and three (3) incidents with fish that they collectively agree never to speak of again, they arrive home. Everyone goes their separate ways, exhausted and frayed, mumbling about sleeping for a week and never getting in a car again. Steve, Becca, and Bucky head to Natasha’s house, where they get Becca settled in in a guest room. She’s taken a liking to Natasha, even though she still doesn’t like anyone else. Steve supposes he can’t blame her. Humans have treated her terribly.

They leave her sleeping in the half-full bathtub and retreat to the living room, collapsing onto the couch.

“Ugh,” Natasha says eloquently.

Steve grunts in agreement. Bucky rolls over just enough to face plant into his shirt with a muffled groan, and Steve pats his back weakly.

“We should get up,” he says, jaw cracking on a yawn.

“Mmhmm,” Natasha says. “Things…things to do.”

Bucky melts into Steve. “Mmph.”

The next thing Steve knows, he’s squinting against the sunlight coming through the window, Bucky drooling into his shirt.

Natasha appears with a cup of steaming coffee and Steve wriggles one arm out from under Bucky to grab it, inhaling the rich smell of actual, non-gas station coffee. It’s heaven.

Bucky grunts, waking up. “Gotta go?” he slurs.

“Nope.” Steve smiles, taking a sip of coffee. “We’re home.”

“You’re my home,” Bucky mumbles, before falling back asleep.

Steve blinks, stunned. He can’t mean…

Bucky will go back to the sea, Steve knows. Now that he has his sister back, there’s no reason to stay on land. But maybe, just maybe, Bucky doesn’t want to leave for good.

Steve, deep down, doesn’t want him to leave. He doesn’t want Bucky to leave because he love–

_Oh._

Steve sits upright abruptly, nearly spilling his coffee. Bucky grumbles at the movement and blinks up at him, eyes fuzzy with sleep.

“Wazzit?”

“Nothing.” Steve’s heart flutters in his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“Kay.” Bucky snuggles more securely against him, exhaling. Steve strokes a hand over his hair and feels the emotion well up like a spring, unquenchable.

He loves him. He has known this, but he hadn’t realized, truly, what it meant. He loves Bucky. He will love him even if he leaves, even if he never sees him again. He’ll love him even if, like Atlantis, Bucky is lost to him forever.

He loves Bucky’s sea-blue eyes, the way they crinkle when he laughs. He loves Bucky’s hair, and the way Bucky lets him brush and braid it as Orcan mates do. He loves the rocks Bucky gives him, each one carefully selected and given even if Steve didn’t always understand why. He understands now. He finally understands what each one was telling him all along.

He waits a week, letting Bucky help Becca settle in. He is so devoted to his sister, so _happy_ , that it makes Steve’s heart aches. Bucky has one of his own kind now. He doesn’t need Steve. But Steve needs to tell him that he _understands,_ that what was between them was real; and even if it has to end, that Bucky is loved beyond measure.

He cradles the box carefully as he walks down the dock, heart in his throat. Bucky is waiting at the end, feet swinging over the water and face tipped up towards the sun, and he smiles when he sees Steve, a smile that lights up his face and crinkles his eyes, highlighting the summer freckles dotting his cheeks.

“Hi,” Steve says, sitting down next to him.

“Hi,” Bucky echoes.

The water laps at the dock with a soft shush, the smell of salt in the air. Above, a seabird wheels, lazily circling the updraft.

Steve takes a breath. “I need to tell you something.”

Bucky cocks his head, quizzical. “What is it?”

Steve sets the box between them, hand on the worn cardboard. “I know you’re going back to the sea, but I just…I wanted you to have this before you go. To know you’ll always have a place here, in my heart.”

Bucky is staring at him with wide eyes, something confused and longing in their depths. Steve takes the lid off the box, revealing the stones within, and Bucky stares at them before dragging his gaze up to Steve’s.

“When I was little,” Steve says, “I used to walk with my mom along the beach. And I would collect rocks that I liked. My mom kept them all in a box, and after she died…I just couldn’t make myself get rid of them. They are…I guess you could say they’re pieces of my heart. And they’re yours, if you want them.”

Bucky sucks in a surprised breath.

“You told me,” Steve continues, “that giving rocks is something special, in your culture. And I get it now, what you were trying to tell me. Because Bucky–” He takes Bucky’s hand in his. “I love you too. And I wanted you to know that, before you leave.”

A tear slips down Bucky’s cheek and he suddenly lurches forward, pressing his lips to Steve’s.

“You stupid human,” he chokes out when they part, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “Why would I ever leave you?”

It’s Steve’s turn to be surprised. “Bucky, what–?”

Bucky’s hand grips the back of his neck, their breath mingling between them. “The sea is my home,” he says, “but you’re my home too.”

“But what about Becca?”

Bucky takes a shaky breath, hand tightening on Steve’s neck. “We’re both staying on land. The ocean is no longer safe, and I…I can’t leave. Before, we thought we had to be separate from humans, but that’s not true. I want to live here, with humans. With you.”

“Are you sure?”

Bucky pulls back enough to meet his eyes, his own shining like the sea. “I have never been more sure of anything.”

Steve chokes on a sob, tears of happiness coursing down his cheeks, and then they are kissing again, a gentle breeze ruffling their hair and the sun beating down, warming them through. They tangle together, Orcan and human, all else falling away except for them; for a moment, they are the only ones in the world.

  

 

## Epilogue

“You ready?”

Bucky nods, stripping off the last of his clothes and wading out into the shallows. Becca darts past him, diving into the water, and Bucky laughs, sinking under the waves. A moment later, an orca breaks the surface, floating in the shallow water as Becca leaps through the air further out.

Tony and Bruce slosh through the water towards him, the silver fin hefted between them. Steve reaches Bucky’s side first, rubbing the sleek skin, and Bucky trills at him, nudging him with his nose. He tips his side up as Tony and Bruce approach, carefully sliding the new fin onto his stump and sealing it until black merges smoothly with silver, the red star prominent.

Bucky wiggles his new fin, then whistles in appreciation, slapping his tail. Steve laughs, helping to push him out into the water. The sun beats down on his bare chest, the beard he’s growing itching over tanned skin. He swims out beside Bucky and then dives, opening his eyes to a whole new world.

Bucky and Becca frolic through the water, powerful bodies spinning around him. Next to them, he feels incomprehensibly small. Bucky comes up to him, stilling in the water, and Steve is overcome by a sense of awe. He reaches out, setting his hands on either side of Bucky’s face and pressing his forehead against his. He closes his eyes.

The ocean is quiet. It is the quiet of peace, of happiness. It is two souls meeting in the deep blue, sunlight sparkling above them, and finding themselves in each other’s eyes. It is love.

The ocean is quiet, and for the first time, it feels like coming home.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] love is an ocean wide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19177969) by [majel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majel/pseuds/majel)




End file.
